Daughter of a Wolf
by Kenwoody
Summary: No. Oh no, no, no, fuck no! They're back. Claquesous' on campus. Grantaire had to get Éponine and get as far away as humanly possible. No time to look back, they had to leave. Part Five of the "All I Have Known" series.
1. Stop Me

**I AM SO UNBELIEVABLY SORRY GUYS! I said a few weeks and it's been much longer. But I'm back now and I'm so sorry for leaving you at that kind of cliffhanger. I'm not quite finished with writing it yet, so updates aren't going to be more than once a week, but I promise that I will be updating once a week to get this story to you.**

**I hope this is a good make-up chapter. Thank you for waiting for me!**

**I had completely forgotten until now, but if any of you want to swing by my Tumblr and chat, my url is Whimsical-in-the-Brainpan. Hope to hear from you!**

Chapter One: Stop Me

Grantaire forced himself to walk slowly and smoothly, all the way from the bar to his car. He didn't run any red lights, or go an inch over the speed limit. Even getting out of his car and walking through the Earl, he tried to maintain some form of normalcy. It was only when he hit the staircase up to his apartment, with no windows, did his panic start to show. He bolted up the stairs two at a time, scrambling frantically to get up to his apartment. It was all he could do to check that their spare key had been safely removed before opening the door with his own set of keys and bolting in.

Inside, the living room was flooded with his friends, the same friends that he hadn't seen in almost two months. Of course they would all be here, now of all possible times, they would be here when he needed them as far away from him as possible.

And fuck, when his eyes landed on Enjolras, the picture of open concern, Grantaire almost sobbed for what he was about to do.

Instead, he forced his eyes away from the blond, and searched out Éponine, silently curled up on the couch in Cosette's lap. Everyone else, including Musichetta was surrounding the couch and had been watching her before he barged in. The one exception, of course, being Bahorel who stood by the window, eying the street.

Refusing to let himself slow down, Grantaire took four long strides over to his best friend and pulled her into a tight hug. They stayed there like that for a few seconds, Éponine trembling in his arms, but otherwise stoic. When he finally pulled away, he made his way immediately towards the living room closet, where he kept their many bags.

"Start packing," he said, forcing his voice not to crack, or give way for a sob. "We're leaving."

He could feel everyone turn towards him, be it in surprise, confusion, or anger. He couldn't focus on their reactions though, not even Éponine's shock mattered.

"What?"

"You heard me," he said with a sigh, dumping three duffel bags on the floor by his feet. "Take everything you need and just leave the rest."

"No fucking way! I'm not leaving college. Not when we worked so hard to get here, to make a life here," she said angrily.

He could feel their stares on the back of his neck, and he really didn't want to have this confrontation in front of them. He spun back around to face her and wrapped her hands in his, pointedly ignoring her half-attempts to throw him off.

"Claquesous is on campus, Éponine!" he said pleadingly, wondering how she couldn't understand this. "Claquesous! 'Parnasse's most trusted man."

"Just because he saw me naked a few times back in the day…"

He rolled his eyes at her flippant treatment of everything that happened. Only she could make those ten years into something so simple, just to be stubborn. Sometimes he wondered if she kept updated on current events, or if it was just too difficult to follow. Ever since they'd left, he's followed the news almost religiously, in case anything important happened.

"Montparnasse isn't some gangly, well dressed teenager anymore, Ep," he snapped at her, figuring it was time to fill her in. "His Dad's been dead going on six months and the entire ring is his now. If his right hand's here, then it doesn't matter if he came for you, or if it's a complete coincidence. Because if he sees you then he has the power to pull you out of college and drag you back anyway."

Éponine's eyes widened marginally at the information, but before she got the chance to respond, one of the Amis walked up from behind and rested a hand against his shoulder. Grantaire didn't need to see or hear him to know exactly who it was.

"Grantaire, calm down and think rationally for a moment," Enjolras said carefully.

"Back off, Enj," he snapped, immediately shrugging away the blond's hand without looking at him. They hadn't spoken in two months, and every second in his presence was hurting, especially with the knowledge that he'd likely never see him again. Grantaire silently begged for him to drop it, but knew immediately that the activist never would.

"No," Enjolras said harshly. "You can't just run away from every little issue."

"This isn't some little issue, and you have no clue what you're talking about," Grantaire snarled.

Internally, he was still pleading for the man to just go.

"Then why don't you just explain it to me already," Enjolras responded instantly, fists clenching in exasperation. "I might be able to help."

Grantaire thought he was going to be sick. He couldn't handle both Montparnasse's possible return into their lives, and Enjolras' anger at him avoiding them. As it was, he could feel his equilibrium tipping, and the desire to curl up in his closet until the world stopped spinning trying to overtake him. Had it been literally anything else, he wouldn't still be standing upright. But this was Montparnasse, and Éponine needed him to hold it together.

"We're not one of your little causes, Enjolras," he spat out, willing to try anything to shake Enjolras and the Amis off so they could pack and flee as quietly as possible.

"No, you're my friends and I don't want to lose you. Especially not if there's something I could have done!" Enjolras said, and Grantaire ached at the words.

"Stop it!" Éponine shouted finally, before throwing her arms out in defeat. When they finally quieted, she turned to him and rested a hand against his shoulder. "Let's just tell them, R."

Oh no. No, no, no, no, no. Grantaire backed away from her, shaking his head so much that he hoped it would distract from the trembling in the rest of his body. But Éponine didn't let him curl up and hide, and stepped towards him every time he tried to back away. They both knew that any concept they'd had of safety was gone now, and she had seemed to throw all caution to the wind, while he scrambled for what scraps might be left behind.

Soon enough, his back connected with a wall, and Éponine was still approaching, looking at him sadly, but still imploring.

"I'm tired of us being the dropout and the runaway. Always looking behind us, always keeping our heads down," she said, reaching out and taking his hands like he had just done. "Open your eyes, R. We did it, we found somewhere. And it's ours."

"It's just a club, 'Ponine," he said with a sigh, hearing the lie as soon as it came out of his mouth. It wasn't just a club. Somehow, they'd found this group, and the people there had accepted them, cracks and all.

After finding Éponine, he'd believed that was it. That was the one incredible thing he'd be given in his life. Then there had been Christopher, but he'd destroyed that, and he was sure he didn't deserve anything else. But somehow, Grantaire had gotten a third chance, this time with an entire group of people. He had a sinking feeling in his gut that this was his actual last chance; he could never hope to find anyplace better than with these stupid, brilliant students.

She had to know that he didn't want this either. That he would give anything not to be afraid, not to run away from them so many times, not to have to leave them. Not to have to leave Enjolras. But Claquesous was here, and it simply wasn't safe for them anymore.

"Do you trust me?" Enjolras asked carefully.

"Of course," Grantaire replied before he had the chance to think about it, wincing after the words escaped.

The student leader started to approach him and Éponine, walking slowly to give him plenty of time to move away if it was too much. It was as if he was an animal in a cage everyone was afraid of spooking, and the comparison was debilitating in its accuracy.

Part of him wanted to dart sideways along the wall, and put as much distance between him and Enjolras as possible. He knew what the student was trying to do, and it would work.

"Do you trust them?" Enjolras asked, gesturing to the rest of the Amis watching the three of them with sad eyes.

"Yes," Grantaire said after a moment of hesitation. Almost against his will, he met every one of their faces.

The urge to run fought hideously with the desire to stay. He _wanted_ to ask about Jehan's poetry, joke around with Courfeyrac and Bossuet, have that rematch with Bahorel over shots, listen to Cosette babble on about clothes, Marius babble on about Cosette, waste lunch breaks with Joly, set up the Musain in the mornings with Musichetta, listen to Feuilly bitch about the idiots he worked with, make fun of Combeferre when he tried to parent him over his alcohol intake. They were his friends, all of them; and if he believed in nothing, they would be his one conviction.

And Enjolras; he wanted to listen to Enjolras speak for the rest of his life, wanted to argue with him over everything and nothing, just to see the flush of frustration in his cheeks. He wanted to watch him during his rallies, and show him the rest of Friends. He wanted to bask in Enjolras until it was time for him to die.

"Who is Claquesous?" Enjolras asked softly.

Grantaire turned to look at Éponine; when Enjolras implored him like that he was powerless to refuse. His last defense was her response, because for all accounts and purposes, this was entirely her story to tell. He really shouldn't have any say in whether or not they explained their past to these people, and how much they revealed.

But meeting Éponine's dark brown eyes, he could see her waiting for him. She wanted them to know. She must've come to trust them a long time ago, far earlier than he was ever able to. Again, Enjolras was asking him to give of himself so intimately, that he trembled from fear. This time, it wasn't just a word to put on a t-shirt though. This time, he was asking for the story, requesting context. If Grantaire started to tell Enjolras about his past, would he be able to stop? Éponine just nodded at him encouragingly, and so it was his decision to trust them, or abandon them.

And in the end, he couldn't help but trust them.

"Claquesous is the second in command to Montparnasse: the king-pin of the Patron-Minette."

"The Patron-Minette?" Courfeyrac asked cautiously, clearly recognizing the name "As in…"

"Yes," Grantaire cut him off with a wince. "As in the French mob. They deal in drugs, weapons, girls, you name it. They cover it up by hiding it underneath legitimate businesses. Montparnasse was the creepy little boss's son, but now he's head of the ring, and he's all but untouchable. He's got a ton of law enforcement on his payroll, and if Claquesous is here it means that 'Parnasse sent him."

"How are you two involved with the Patron-Minette?" Jehan piped up, eyes wide.

Fuck, he could see it starting in their eyes. The mistrust, wondering what crowds they ran with before they came here. Grantaire took a step away from the wall to stand up next to Éponine, in case they didn't understand and she needed the support.

"Grantaire isn't," Éponine said immediately, protecting him the same way he was trying to protect her. "My parents ran a motel at the edge of town, close to the train station, but that was mostly a cover. Our town was a key flow-through point, on a major drug smuggling route, and my father was paid to make sure all of the goods arrived safely, and continued on to where they needed to go. If business deals had to take place between the boss, and another big name player, my Dad's motel was usually a common meeting point."

"Okay," Feuilly said, analyzing everything that he was hearing before speaking again. "So how are _you_ involved with that?"

Éponine looked to the ground uncomfortably, and Grantaire was about to take over to save her from having to spell it out, when Combeferre beat him to the revelation.

"Your shirt," the philosophy student said slowly.

Grantaire moved closer to Éponine and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. They were a good group of kids, but this was also one of those things that changes relationships. It was very likely that everyone would look at Éponine differently afterwards.

"My Dad was a clever businessman," she said, clearly forcing her voice to remain neutral. "Robbed the poor schmucks dumb enough to stay the night, and treated mob guests to the best in customer service; the best rooms, the fresh food, and the company of a young lady if they so desired."

And it was out there. It was Éponine's big secret, not his, but he still winced as if it were. Éponine's shirt, _business deal benefit_ probably hung in their heads, context giving the words a weight that they never realized before.

"How young?" Jehan asked, voice sounding shockingly low and dangerous.

Grantaire looked amongst his friends, and saw the budding anger in a few of their eyes. Bahorel's snarl and Combeferre's tight-lipped scowl was to be expected, but the poet's was not. Jean Prouvaire was a soft soul; he wrote poetry about flowers, wore bright colors that most guys avoided, and let things roll off his back without affecting him. Jehan's roommate stole his goddamn medication for fuck's sake, and he didn't let it bother him.

"First time I was six years old," Éponine answered with a shrug, trying to play it off casually. "Wasn't often, but continued until we ran away."

"No one in the school noticed something was wrong? No one did anything?" Enjolras demanded angrily.

Well, he'd expected Enjolras' righteous fury to kick in a great deal sooner, so in a way he was impressed. By now, he'd learned that Enjolras' natural response to hearing things like this was to get angry with the larger societal gap that caused terrible things to happen, because he didn't know how to deal with an individual in pain.

"The Patron-Minette was so connected that Ep's third grade teacher couldn't even file a report to Child Protective Services," he explained calmly, giving him a look that he hoped convinced Enjolras to drop it for the time being. "We met when I was nine, so whenever it happened, she would run away to my house afterwards, and stay with me."

Grantaire had never said anything to Éponine, and she had never said anything to him, but both were pretty sure that was why they'd been able to run away so easily as well. The Patron-Minette didn't want Éponine on law enforcement's radar, so if Grantaire's parents had called him in missing, Montparnasse's men had probably intercepted and buried the report. If missing persons had caught up to them then Éponine would've started spilling mob information, so they would've rather had Éponine lost than located.

"For nine years?" Combeferre asked, and looked at Éponine sadly.

Neither of them knew what to say to explain that away, or downplay it to make it better for their friends, so Éponine just shrugged again, and he tried to decide where to pick up the story again.

"When I finally decided to run away, I showed up at her window to get her out and we drove off into the sunset, never looking back. Eventually, we found our way here and settled down. I got a few jobs and Éponine started up high school again."

Even though it was complete bullshit, Grantaire figured he might as well try to end on a happy note. Of course, as he looked up to meet Enjolras' gaze, he could see that it wouldn't last for long. The problem they'd avoided for so long had just reentered their lives, and he didn't know how long he had to get them out.

"But now Claquesous is here," Enjolras finished angrily. "So what does that mean for Éponine?"

"We're runaways," Grantaire said with a sigh, hoping this convinced the Amis to let them escape. "Technically, they could force us to go back. Assuming Montparnasse didn't send Claquesous because he's found Ep and wants her back, then she's still a liability."

"How?" Marius asked, frustrated and confused.

For the first time since he'd begun his and Éponine's story, Grantaire really regarded Marius. Unlike the anger in a lot of the others' expressions, the awkward ginger looked distressed and shell-shocked. Though it was easy to forget, since he talked about Cosette or his father so often, Éponine was still one of the kid's best friends. It was clear that Marius was aware of just how out of his depth he was, and hated it.

"If they're not here for me, then they're here to sell or to transport something, and I know almost all of the higher-ups in the ring from the past fifteen years," Éponine said, trying to remain practical and unemotional. "Without my Dad holding my leash, I could have a dangerous affidavit."

"You're a loose end." Joly said slowly.

They didn't need to confirm it, and none of the Amis could say anything more about it because even Marius knew what that meant. In short, loose ends needed to be cut.

/. /

Enjolras stood painfully still, trying to absorb all of the information Grantaire and Éponine had just introduced to them. Of every emergency that had crossed his mind when getting Joly's text, none of them came anywhere close to _this_. But there was no time to dwell on what he'd thought the issue would be, he had to focus on the actual problem.

His synapses were firing, trying to account for all of the loose factors and how they could deal with them. Sparks of memory were flickering in the back of his mind, and promising to return to them later, he stored them away.

The sound of shifting canvas drew him out of his internal organization and back to the present. Grantaire had moved back to the hallway closet and the duffel bags he'd abandoned earlier on the floor.

"Where are you going?" Enjolras asked perplexed.

Grantaire had trusted them. By his own choice, he had opened up to him about part of his past. Even though it was more Éponine's story than his, it was still a huge step in trust for him to let go of that much. Why was he still packing?

"Where do you think? You've heard our story," Grantaire said defeated. "They didn't come after us before because they didn't know about me, and didn't want to go through the police, but enough water's gone under the bridge where she could easily become a Jane Doe. I'm just trying to make sure we escape with our lives, Enj."

His stomach traitorously clenched at the possibility that after everything Grantaire might just leave anyway.

"You're not running," he said resolutely, trying not to sound like a stubborn, impetuous child. "We can fight this."

They had to fight this. This was the first time he'd seen his friend in almost two months, and it wouldn't be the last.

"How?" Grantaire demanded, throwing his hands up in the air with a voice that sounded far more defeated and heartbroken than angry. "What do you think you could possibly do without putting us on police or 'Parnasse's radar? They're untouchable."

At Grantaire's frustratingly true words, Enjolras forced himself out of the unhelpfully emotional mindset, and returned back to his mental situation room. Compartmentalize and refocus, he thought to himself; treat it like a game of chess. He lacked important information about Claquesous' presence on campus, and possible resources in town to make an educated next move.

"For all you know they're trying to draw you out of hiding, so just slow down and let us come up with a plan." Enjolras said thoughtfully.

As he'd expected, that slowed down Grantaire's panicked escape, and gave him pause to better assess the situation. Strategies and information ran through his mind, and Enjolras was already sifting through the best possible outcomes.

"We need to know exactly what Claquesous is doing here before we do anything," he said with certainty in his voice. "Grantaire, Éponine, you two can't leave your apartment until we know more."

He could tell that Éponine wanted to protest, wanted to say something against the house arrest but he held up his hand to stop her before she could say anything.

"For everyone who's willing, I would like to go into hibernation here for the forseeable future, to ensure Grantaire and Éponine's safety," he said, hoping that the Amis would agree. It was a small apartment that could quickly become cramped with ten college kids camped out in the living room, but it was worth it if they could protect their friends.

Thankfully, he could already see a good handful of the Amis nodding along and clapping Éponine and Grantaire on the shoulder and back reassuringly.

"No one should walk around campus alone until we know Claquesous is gone," Combeferre added wisely. "If we're going to be taking on a French mob boss, then we should take extra precautions."

Enjolras nodded at his best friend, glad the man had thought to bring it up.

"Courfeyrac and I can find out who Claquesous' been talking to on campus," Jehan said almost instantly. "He's probably trying to deal to other freshman, but if he's searching for Ep, then we don't have a lot of time before he realizes she's not living on-campus."

Enjolras nodded at the poet. He couldn't think of anyone better to ask around the freshmen housing. Courfeyrac probably knew more of the freshmen class than all of them combined, and Jehan could get into the buildings, being a freshman himself. It also didn't hurt that no one on earth had the power to dislike either of them.

He turned to the rest of the group, eager to see what other jobs they could conceptualize and assign Amis members to. In a strange way, it felt exactly like planning one of their rallies. They divided up areas to reach, people to talk to, and information to uncover. They could just as easily be planning for war or a food drive, the environment was so familiar. And yet, Éponine and Grantaire's lives might be at stake.

"Well, if the Patron-Minette is trying to sell, odds are they either have a contact in town, or are trying to set one up," Feuilly said wisely. "They wouldn't send the second in command this far out just to sell or stop over in this town. Give me Bahorel and Joly, and I can find out if they already have a plant, or if they're just scoping out the area."

Enjolras nodded slowly. Feuilly's job at the manufacturing plant meant that he was in a strategic location to keep an eye on a good portion of the town, but Joly's volunteer work at the local hospital, and Bahorel's familiarity with almost every local establishment gave them enough wide-spread recognition that they probably could cover the entire town.

What excited Enjolras even more though, was Feuilly's suggestion that they could be scoping out the area to decide whether or not it was a worthy stopping point on a drug route. That was certainly a reason to send out a second in command to investigate.

"If they're still scoping out the area, they might be convinced it isn't worth a stop on the route," Enjolras said triumphantly, snatching at the small hope and hanging on to it.

"How?" Grantaire asked with a weary scoff. "We're in a fairly large college town with a national railroad moving through it. We couldn't be more perfect for them."

At the moment, Enjolras couldn't dispute the logic. For all intents and purposes, they were the ideal stopover on a drug route. Grantaire was looking sideways at him, weary and sad, as if they were charging headfirst into a battle they couldn't hope to win, and all Enjolras wanted to do was break the leader persona and promise him that it would all be okay somehow. Instead, he filed away the possibility, and turned back to the group.

"Bossuet, Combeferre, Marius, I need you on research duty," he said, voice growing stoic again. "Find any connection you can besides Éponine for why they might be here, and if they've been here before. Cosette, since you have to go home later, can you take first round of staying with Éponine and Grantaire? Tonight, everyone reconvene here with your clothes, work, and whatever else you might need."

Cosette nodded when he addressed her, and everyone started to shuffle around, talking to the people they were grouped with. Enjolras took in the scene with pride, amazed by how quickly his friends became his lieutenants.

Before he could refocus on the concerns itching the back of his mind, he felt Grantaire's hand on his forearm. Enjolras turned to face him, and was met with Grantaire's incredulous expression. His mouth hung open and his head was tilted, skepticism hung on his every feature, save his eyes. His eyes refused to hold anything but sadness.

"This is all great in theory, Enjolras, but I need to work," Grantaire said, clearly frustrated. "We can't pay bills and rent without it. Not to mention food."

Enjolras grinned at the first easy problem that he'd been presented with all day, and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. With careful ease, he pulled out the credit card his father had given him for college, and handed it over to the cynic without a second thought.

"Take it."

"No," Grantaire said after a moment, shaking his head and backing away. "I could never owe you so much."

Of course it was too much to ask, for any task to be simple with Grantaire. But this problem was such a small one in comparison to everything else that he'd learned today. Enjolras refused for this to become a large complex issue.

"Just once, can you trust that I want to help?"

"Why?"

Wasn't it obvious already? Enjolras opened his mouth several times, but closed it again as words abandoned him. There was too much he had left to sort through. Suspicious memories that were starting to align, questions that he needed to find the answers to. Finally, he grabbed hold of the simplest response he could think to give to Grantaire.

"I don't want to see you run out of your home, and I definitely don't want you or Éponine dead. Given a little time I think we can fix it. Let me try."

The cynic stared at him for several seconds, before gently reaching out and taking the credit card from between his fingers. The movements were slow and careful; Grantaire's eyes flicked back and forth between the credit card in his fingers and Enjolras' face, as if expecting him to have a change of heart.

When Grantaire finally had his father's card in his possession, Enjolras afforded him a thankful smile, and left to make his own preparations. Almost everyone, save Cosette was leaving to get to work on whatever their assigned task was. Enjolras himself was already making plans and running through his schedule for the next day, wondering how fast he could clear it.

Before he could dash back to his dorm room, back to his computer, Combeferre pulled him over at the bottom of the stairs, a doubtful look upon his face.

"Enjolras," Combeferre began carefully. "You haven't said what you plan to do yet."

He couldn't explain it to Combeferre when he had yet to go through everything in his own mind yet. The things his mind was suggesting, he wanted to call them impossible but with everything he'd just heard it was a luxury he couldn't afford. He needed to entertain them as possibilities, carry through with the implications of such ideas, and then determine what to do with them.

However, if he was being honest, he would admit that his mind was already made up.

"I have a hunch that I need to explore," he finally said to his best friend in explanation. "I swear I won't do anything rash."

Combeferre sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You always do something rash."

And yet, the philosophy major dropped his grip on his shoulder, and nodded. With Combeferre's blessing he grinned slightly, then left the apartment to seek out Bahorel.


	2. Distract Me

**I'm sorry I missed posting yesterday! My schedule was freakishly busy, but I'm updating early today! Hope you like it.**

**I'm getting quite a book list going for this fic! Maybe at the end, I'll bring that back somehow. Not in story, but a little book/TV/movie list in the author's notes.**

**As before, my Tumblr is Whimsical-in-the-Brainpan. Come and say hi!**

**Chapter Two: Distract Me**

Éponine squinted at the floor in the dark, trying to discern safe patches of ground to step on, so she didn't accidentally land on an Amis. The floor was covered in sleeping bags, and she really wasn't used to climbing over bodies to navigate through her apartment.

It was still so surreal to her. Her life hadn't exactly lined up with Joe Normal since they ran away, but it was much closer than it had ever been before. Grantaire's panic attacks and fear of people kept things interesting, and she spent most of high school keeping her head down, but they'd finally found their rhythm. She got a crush on a boy who only saw her as just there (and as much as it sucked, it was also kind of wonderful to worry about something so normal), classes were difficult, and they had money troubles. She had gotten used to those problems being her life.

Worrying about the gang members who she'd been whored out to for most of her childhood coming to kill her was a bit disorienting, to say the least.

She had been seven years old and on her way to becoming a bitter, nasty person when she'd met Grantaire. Éponine had stopped seeing her bedroom, her closet, her food, or even her body as things she owned, because her Dad could just take them and use them whenever he wanted. She had just wanted to take something back that she'd tried to yell at Grantaire on the playground one day, and he just agreed with her. She followed him home and raided his fridge, and he just looked pleased by her presence. For the first few days, all Éponine did was take from Grantaire, but then she saw the way the other kids treated him.

Suddenly, Grantaire became the anchor to tie herself to. If she possessed nothing else, he was _hers_, and therefore hers to care for. If he was bullied at school, it gave her a reason to become tough enough to protect him. And in turn, he opened his arms to her. Whatever security she couldn't have at home, she would find in his house. If she felt helpless or worthless under her father's control, he would find a way to let her be powerful and needed. And when they both needed to, Grantaire took her away.

She hadn't felt weak against others since then. He had bought her a pocket knife, and it turned into a collection. No one could touch her without her say-so, and it helped her put the past to rest. Everything that happened to her felt like memories from another life, or vague wisps of dreams.

Now she had so much, and no one was going to let her lose it. Jehan and Courfeyrac had returned first, three hours after they'd left for the freshman dorms with (somewhat) good news. A few of the guys there recognized Claquesous and said that he was offering them some good quality mescaline, but also mentioned that he could get coke, molly, and heroin. While it didn't prove anything, Éponine felt much more comfortable in the belief that Claquesous didn't know she was here.

Jehan had also volunteered to talk to Vince about Grantaire needing to take a week (they all figured that for better or worse, Claquesous would probably be gone in a week's time) off from work at the Earl. When he came back upstairs afterwards, the poet was all bubbly after a pleasant conversation. Not that it was much of a surprise, because Éponine half wanted Vince Hannigan to adopt her at times.

"Did you know your landlord was a Zen Buddhist?" he asked them with a smile.

Grantaire and Éponine had turned to look at each other puzzlingly for a moment before shaking their heads and saying, "No."

"That's alright," Jehan reassured them with a shrug. "Neither does he."

Slowly, the others began to return, all of them bringing hibernation bags with them. But then sunset had rolled around, and no one had seen Enjolras. Grantaire had, of course, started panicking. Despite Combeferre saying that Enjolras had wanted to check something, and had probably lost track of time in the library, her roommate wouldn't be calmed.

It was strange to see Grantaire losing control so thoroughly in front of anyone who wasn't her, let alone almost all of the Amis. When he'd started pacing and hyperventilating, babbling mindlessly about terrible things that could've happened, everyone had turned to her helplessly. They had never seen him like this, and had no way of knowing that this was what her best friend looked like every time he ran away from them.

And what's worse, nothing she did would calm him down. When she grabbed onto his hands, he would pull away as if she'd burned him, and when she tried to get him to sit, he'd fidget and twitch until she let him up again. At a loss for what to do, she'd slipped two sleeping pills into a glass of water, and told him to drink it.

No one talked about where Enjolras had disappeared to.

Now though, everyone was asleep across the floor of their living room, and Éponine was trying to get through to the hallway (where Marius and Joly had cleverly chosen to sleep) to the end of the apartment. Because if she could see the front door to their apartment without any eyes on her, maybe she would be able to decide what she wanted to do.

This was her fight and no one else's. And even though they wanted to make it their fight as well, she wasn't sure if she could let them risk that for her.

When she turned the corner to the tiny little kitchenette, she was surprised to see the counter lit up by the light of a cell phone, and Bossuet standing awkwardly in the center picking at the remains of the "You're Gay" Cake that Courfeyrac had made for Grantaire so long ago.

So much for that plan. Giving up any hope of making up her mind right now, she changed courses and headed for the kitchenette.

"I already got you a fork," Bossuet whispered and held it out to her as she climbed over the last sleeping body.

"You knew I'd be up?"

"I figured someone would be," he amended with a grin. "If you hadn't noticed, it's been a bit of a day."

"That would explain all the squatters," she shot back with a smile, taking the proffered fork from his hands and taking a bite herself.

To be honest, she was glad that it was Bossuet she'd found still awake. The bald man had an incredible talent to turn misfortune into something to be laughed at, and she really didn't want to be dwelling on it the way everyone expected her to. Her past was hideous and her present was wonderful; now she just had to fight for it a bit. Éponine refused to see it as anything more than that.

"I can't believe you still have this cake," he said with a chuckle, forgoing plates and knives for just a fork.

"It's amazing what refrigerators can do these days."

Bossuet looked down at the counter, and she could see a troubled look on his face. He wanted to ask her questions, or express his sympathy over her past, or even find out what the hell happened to Grantaire, and she just couldn't.

"Don't," she said before he had the chance to think of a question, hoping it conveyed how much she wanted to distance herself from it.

"Then what?" he asked with an understanding smile.

"Anything," she said, shrugging tiredly and hoping that it didn't show. "How did you three happen? I never got to hear the story."

The bald grad student chuckled with his entire body, shoulders shaking slightly from the reaction.

"It's a bizarre story."

"Perfect," she said in response and took another bite of the gayke.

"Well, it started when I was a freshman and Joly did one of those overnight visits as a prospie. We got along kinda perfectly. When he enrolled the next year he hunted me down, and we started rooming together second semester," Bossuet said. "We both considered ourselves straight, and still do. He's just… my exception, I guess."

"No kidding," Éponine said with a smirk.

"Never know when a neurotic twig will suddenly become your type. Well, neither of us handled it well at first," he said with a laugh. "We got jumpy around each other, then things got weird, and then it all came out and it was hysterical. We couldn't stop laughing over how completely ridiculous it was, and how stupid we'd both been."

Éponine grinned, easily imagining the two, who were against all odds, both considered the happy ones.

"We tried to be in a gay relationship, but we both kinda sucked at it."

"How does one suck at being in a gay relationship?" she asked with a smile, glad that this was the question she'd asked. Bossuet had one of the most animated faces ever, and so he happened to be one of the best storytellers in the entire group.

"Well, you know guys who tell their girlfriends that they don't like porn because it's poorly lit, has corny music, no story, or is poorly acted?"

"Yeah," she said, having a feeling she knew where this was going.

"Well, we pretty much proved that we weren't gay, but I did walk away from that night of research wondering if we were somehow in a lesbian relationship."

"Let me guess; corny music?"

"Oh yeah," he nodded exaggeratedly, making a face. "But no matter how much we sucked at it on paper, we worked. And then Joly met Musichetta. He introduced us, and I think all three of us secretly freaked out about it. I didn't want to ruin what I had with Joly, but I still considered myself straight, and I know he did the same song-and-dance. So none of us said anything; Musichetta didn't know we were in a relationship, Joly and I didn't admit we were attracted to her."

"Then how did it happen?"

"The same way it happened with Joly. We were all hanging out and watching a movie, and everything just fell apart. And then somehow, it all came together. We talked, and it just sort of became what it is."

"How long have you three been dating?" Éponine asked, curiously.

"Almost four years now," he replied with a soft smile.

Éponine smiled and nudged him with her shoulder, before taking another bite of cake. By now, enough was gone that the cake just read "_Yo Ga_" but it still warmed her heart. In a way, all of it did. There were eight guys sleeping on her floor specifically because they were worried about her. It was hard to believe that people really did that.

"Can I ask you a question?" Bossuet said, and she immediately tensed up.

"I don't know; can you?" she shot back at him, a mix between defensive and joking.

Éponine trusted them, she really did. And she wanted to be free from the past looming over her head. It was just hard to undo so many years of instinct.

"Oh, you're right. The power of semantics is forbidding it," he quipped to reassure her. "Combeferre mentioned that you were interested in our homeless and orphanage programs when you first joined up. I was just curious as to why?"

That was not what Éponine had been expecting. Her face morphed into a slight scowl of confusion. Of course Bossuet wouldn't know that it was another sore topic of hers, but she couldn't help but the discomfort that came over her. Gavroche had been another thing that her Dad had taken from her and heartlessly abandoned. He had barely been three years old at the time.

She wanted to be free from her past, Éponine reminded herself. The truth sets you free.

"Most of the time, Parnasse sent buyers over to us to make deals," she said with a shrug, trying to remain casual. "Once we went to them, and…"

That was all she could force herself to say. Because the many gang members that had laid their hands on her, and had forced themselves on her, they were just a long line of bodies in her mind. They had been as much moving objects to her back then as her own body. There were a few exceptions, Montparnasse particularly, but there was a difference in her mind between forces that were pushed on her, and forces that took away from her. Those bodies of gang members pushed, but she could turn her mind off and dissociate until they stopped pushing and went away. Montparnasse took. Her father took. And that was what she remembered most.

"I had a brother and sister you know," she said with a scowl burning on her face, determined to try again.

"No, I didn't know that."

The truth sets you free, she reminded herself.

"Yeah, Azelma and Gavroche," she said, tasting the names on her mouth for the first time in years. "Azelma was three years younger than me, and Mom's favorite child. Although it wasn't really much of a contest; Mom never wanted a son, and as the oldest, my fate was already sealed. Azelma was the protected one, so I never really had much of a relationship with her. Too much on my own plate, y'know?"

"Yeah," Bossuet nodded sympathetically. "What about your brother?"

"Gavroche should be thirteen, fourteen years old by now," she said carefully, struggling to say it. "If he's still alive."

Bossuet dropped his fork onto the cake pan and turned to look at her, his face looking shocked and sad. Éponine dipped her head and stared intently at the lettering on the gayke, trying to keep her expression neutral.

"You're not sure?"

"He was three years old when we went on that business trip with Dad. I was eight," she said, trying to come out with it and just say what she had to. The truth sets you free, she reminded herself. "One day we were all staying in a hotel room, the next my parents had abandoned him on the streets of New York and there were only four plane tickets back home."

"What?" Bossuet demanded urgently, standing up straight and moving away from the cake on the counter so he could focus all of his attention on her.

"What?" she asked back, instantly nervous.

"Fuck!" he hissed and grabbed his illuminated phone from the counter, his other hand tapping out an impatient rhythm against his hips.

"What?" she asked again, this time putting force behind the words.

"With my luck, you stop believing in coincidence," he said, eyes still focused on the phone. "By New York, you meant Manhattan, right?"

"Yes?"

"Fuck," he repeated.

"Is that important?" Éponine hissed.

"If your father had to go to Manhattan to see the boss, odds are that's the Patron-Minette's base of operations," Bossuet said as he scrolled through the contacts on his phone, ignoring her puzzled expression. "Guess where Enjolras was born and raised?"

Éponine's eyes widened at that. Even though the blond leader had no way of knowing where their base was, it probably couldn't take long to figure it out if he asked around the right places. And didn't New Yorker's have a general idea of where the "bad areas" were? An instant later, Bossuet had pressed a button and she could hear the phone ringing. Enjolras had a tendency to be impulsive, and his disappearance had set most of them on edge. If he was going to try confronting Montparnasse on his own…

The phone rang a few more times, then there was a pause, and Enjolras' gruff voice came on.

"Has something happened?" their leader asked in lieu of a greeting.

"Enjolras, where the fuck are you?" Bossuet hissed, anxiety turning very quickly into anger.

There was a pause, and then, "On a train to Manhattan."

"Oh good, and here I thought you were about to do something stupid," he snapped. "Why the hell are you going to New York?"

"I had a hunch that I needed to follow up on. If I'm correct, it may lead to a way to get the Patron-Minette out of the town for good."

"What?" Éponine hissed, if only to keep from shouting at the blond's careful words.

"I'll be back by tomorrow evening," Enjolras said succinctly. "Make sure the others don't worry."

And with that, Enjolras actually had the nerve to hang up on them. Nothing else to do, Éponine and Bossuet stared at each other blankly.

She couldn't think of a single way to explain this one to Grantaire.

/. /

Enjolras was jolted awake again by the lurch of a train stopping, ripped from that same dream again, gasping and sweating instead of calling out. The call from Bossuet earlier had concerned him, and the tumult in his mind weighed heavy, but Enjolras had been on trains many times in his life, and they never failed to put him to sleep.

He shouldn't have been surprised that he'd had his dream again tonight; the boy from eleven years ago had never really left his mind. After all, the mysterious child had utterly changed his life without realizing it, who had woken him up to his father's snobbery and greed and sparked in him the need to fight for the people who society forgot. He always dreamed about that little kid before he went home to visit his family or before a rally, and he used to write it off as the enigma behind the person who had changed his life.

The moment Grantaire and Éponine explained to them who Claquesous was, Enjolras had begun to have his suspicions. Drug rings and gang wars were large issues, and the criminal underbelly of society was a difficult topic to ignore when he started to grow old enough to explore the city unsupervised. However, in his youth he'd been far too busy learning about the state of the country and the world. Enjolras had been trying to find his place in it, especially in the context of his father's company. Mobs and drug smuggling never found a place in the forefront of his mind; and therefore, it was one of the issues that he knew little about.

But these diseases of society worked under the guise of legitimate business, and so if he recognized the name of Claquesous, it was probably through business. Enjolras hadn't even spared a moment's thought to the implications of his father dealing with mobs, just the possibilities that came from it. He thought of the necessity of records, to keep business dealings and money transactions organized, and tried to recall the lessons his father had taught him back when he was eight years old. There had been a few about such a book of records, a ledger to be kept safe at all times. In his mind, he was already back in the Upper East Side, rooting through his father's home office for possible safe boxes.

But then, Grantaire had said something offhandedly that had thrown Enjolras' cognitive abilities completely off kilter. _"When I finally decided to run away, I showed up at her window to get her out and we drove off into the sunset…" _It was such an insignificant detail, mostly said to calm down their friends after hearing the news about Éponine's tragic home life. But that tiny detail changed everything.

He showed up at her window.

The boy at the motel window from eleven years ago, all sharp features, wild dark hair, and enormous blue eyes, had looked at him for a second before mumbling "_sorry, wrong room_" and taking off. Enjolras had tried to call out for him to wait, but had only managed to stick his head out the window to see the kid trip and skin his knees, not letting it deter him from escaping.

For a long time now, Enjolras had understood that the boy wasn't there for his father, but he never quite understood who or what he'd been trying to find at a run-down motel. He'd never given it too much thought, because any questions about the boy's life would never have been answered. The boy was a symbol, a turning point in Enjolras' life and nothing more.

Now Enjolras couldn't help but wonder if the answers were in front of him. Maybe that boy was looking for the innkeeper's daughter.

The way out of Grand Central Station, towards the subways that would lead him to his apartment was second nature to him by now. If he wanted, Enjolras could probably sleepwalk home. He didn't need to worry about his parents; he vaguely remembered from a brief phone call with his mother weeks ago that they would be at a company event in Switzerland all week. The doorman remembered him well enough, and he had his own keys. His father's continued hope that Enjolras would take over the family business offered him specialized information to security secrets even his mother was unaware of.

If Enjolras believed in fate, he might've thought that he was meant to find Grantaire. As it was, for the first time Enjolras felt lucky for the family he was born into.

He unlocked the doors to the apartment, then immediately went to his father's office door and plugged in the standard security key. A grand mahogany desk sat in the middle of the room, with lush bookcases behind him. File cabinets stood against one wall, and against the other was the window and the balcony.

Enjolras looked behind rows of well-kept old books, and moved the file cabinets, even pulled back the rug to look for any kind of safe. Just as he was about to worry that his father kept his ledger in his office, he bumped into the gigantic desk, and an idea struck him.

Even though he put an effort into keeping in shape, it took all of his energy to move the mahogany desk. But when he saw the corner of a loose floorboard underneath the rug, it was entirely worth it. Not wasting the energy to wish for Bahorel's help, he continued to push until the entire fake paneling was open. He pulled it away to reveal a tiny floor safe. Enjolras couldn't help but scoff at the needless extravagance of the cliché, before looking around the room again for any indication of a pin number.

His father always told him to change his security codes weekly, and never to make them personal. A four digit number could be anything, and therefore easy to forget if changed weekly. So his father told him to leave an obvious hint that no one else would understand just in case. Most decorative pieces in the room were nailed to the walls or floors, unchangeable, so that couldn't be it. His father would never hide the combination in a file or book, so it was pointless to dig through the endless shelves.

Slowly, he walked out of the office and walked through the immaculate rooms of his parents' home. His father wouldn't move the hint, especially if he was leaving town for the week. Not a single pen was out of place, and as always, it was a peculiar change to see the painful level of order enforced in the house after getting used to college life. None of his friends were shamefully disorganized, but there was a level of comfort in their rooms, or places like the Musain and the Corinth that made them feel lived in. His parents' apartment was elegant, but just felt occupied at best.

He reached his parents' room, and couldn't help the victorious grin that stretched across his face. On his father's bedside table sat his lamp, but also a single book. Enjolras made his way over, and picked it up carefully. Cat's Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut.

How fitting to his father.

He turned it over in his hands and saw the bottom corner of page 78 was dog-eared. Enjolras opened up to the page and examined the bookmark, carefully lined up underneath the third to last line on the page. And on that particular line there was only one four letter word. _What._

After gently returning the book to its original spot on the side table, Enjolras headed back downstairs, making sure to close all doors behind him. Finally he returned to the safe, which didn't have corresponding letters on the number buttons, so he checked the lock screen on his iPhone to translate the word into the pin number "9428." With only a tense breath to show his anxiety, he pressed the # button.

The safe opened.

Sometimes, he truly was his father's protégé, Enjolras thought scornfully.

On top of a couple of business piles sat a simple leather-bound notebook. He reached for it immediately and opened it to a random page. There were lists of names, dates, and numbers, with occasional notes by some transactions. It was definitely the ledger. He flipped through some of the more recent pages, and was pleased to see the name Montparnasse appear amongst the transactions. A few page turns later, and the name Thénardier appeared as well.

Enjolras sat down on the floor and pressed the palms of his hands against his closed eyelids, sighing loudly. Every possibility running through his mind might as well have been confirmed. The boy at the window who changed his life could have been Grantaire. Probably was Grantaire.

Enjolras couldn't even begin to think about that. Not here, where all he could afford to think about was how to help Éponine. And not now, when his thoughts on the cynic were so muddled that he couldn't decipher his own feelings.

"_Sorry, wrong room."_

Grantaire had been looking for Éponine: his best friend. So why had he knocked on Enjolras' window? Surely if Grantaire was comfortable showing up uninvited to Éponine's window by that point in their friendship, then he should've known which window was hers.

"_My Dad was a clever businessman… treated mob guests to the best in customer service,"_

Enjolras' jaw clenched tightly as his mind ran through everything Éponine had said about her father's business deals. Had her father kicked her out of her own bedroom so Enjolras could stay in one of the nicer rooms? His posture stiffened even more as he tried to remember more of that night. Enjolras had been stuffed full of Nyquil and abandoned in that motel room; when his father returned, he'd been long asleep. What other benefits had his father reaped from their overnight stay?

In that instant, Enjolras wanted to set fire to his parents' perfect, spotless apartment. Instead, he tucked the ledger into his messenger bag, closed the safe, and moved everything in the office back to its original position. After double and triple checking everything, he finally closed the office door and let himself out of the apartment.

He wanted to get back home as quickly as possible. Maybe the rocking of the train would help with the nausea curling like acid in his stomach.


	3. Shield Me

**So it seems I've switched from a once-a-week schedule to an eight day schedule. I'm so sorry guys! But I've just started school again and my computer has broken four times and doesn't have internet. Thanks for putting up with me!**

Chapter Three: Shield Me

It wasn't wise to visit Éponine and the others at her and Grantaire's apartment, especially since she couldn't stay with them, but there was nothing wrong with meeting her boyfriend for lunch. Marius had texted her saying that things were already insane, and that he missed her, so they planned to grab a bite to eat and then go to the library to talk about it.

Cosette arrived at the Quickie (a stand selling quick food for students that didn't have time to go to the cafeteria before classes) before Marius, and hummed some song in the back of her mind for a moment, before cutting off abruptly. She couldn't help it; she was nervous.

Of course, they all were. Yesterday evening they'd gone from a group of students to vigilante mob hunters. Cosette still couldn't believe everything she'd heard about Éponine and Grantaire's past, and the terrible things that had happened to them Just in case, she'd taken as many extra precautions as she could to keep everyone safe. She'd carefully placed dimes in the corners of all the doorframes and window frames of the apartment, and wore gingko leaves (she had pressed some of the fallen leaves last autumn before and after they turned yellow) in her hair.

When she'd explained how dimes were underestimated because they were the tiniest coin, and underappreciated for trying to bring the order to an entropic currency system, Éponine had just laughed and nodded along. Cosette would've been ruffled about it, but the olive skinned girl let her leave the dimes, and promised not to move them.

This morning she'd woken up for Thursday classes as usual, and dressed in browns and pinks, before pulling out the green gingko leaves and weaving them into her low bun. The air was still cold for mid-March, and there was still snow on the ground but she put on flip-flops anyway, to defy nature. After all, disobeying the weather almost always made her feel powerful when she was anything but.

After waiting for almost a minute and still not seeing Marius, even the flip flops couldn't comfort her, and she ran into the building a few feet away. It was the campus convenience store, and she didn't need to buy anything from there, but it felt good to be indoors.

When Cosette had gone on research duty, she'd tried to find pictures of Claquesous to give everyone a reference, but there was nothing. It hadn't seemed possible; even Montparnasse had an electronic trail, and a face to put to the name with a careful internet search. His second in command however, didn't seem to have a face or a name. He was invisible, and that was terrifying.

She walked slowly through the tiny aisles, avoiding the shelves full of ramen, and moving closer to the candy shelves. Perhaps she would buy some Mentos for later; because they always looked like bird food for people when she was a child, and that had appealed to her.

"So you're the off-campus freshman?" A smooth voice spoke behind her, carrying a little bit of a lisp, and Cosette jumped, and spun around.

There was no one there.

"Over hear, my dear," the voice said again.

Cosette spun around, this time to her side, to see a tall man in the next aisle smiling down at her. He looked to be in his early forties, and had a face that made his teeth look way too large. More importantly though he wasn't wearing a campus staff shirt; he didn't work here. Her eyes widened, and it took all of her energy not to back away.

"You startled me," she said nervously, placing a hand over her chest and pretending that she was no longer terrified.

"My apologies, dear," he said, walking around the line of shelves in between them, and joining her in the junk food aisle. "I'm a ventriloquist you see, and if I don't keep my skills up then I fear I'll lose it."

"Yes of course," Cosette said faintly and turned to focus intently on the shelves of candy, praying that Marius would come soon and would think to look for her in the store. "That would be terribly rude to your vocal chords to forget them like that."

"Finally, one who understands," the man said grandly, and picked up a snickers. "Truly this is cause for celebration. You can call me Cabuc. What, pray tell, is your name?"

In that moment, Cosette felt trapped and nauseous. Marius had a habit of saying _pray tell_ far too often, and it always made her giggle. Hearing it from that purposefully extravagant voice brought goosebumps to her skin, and made her want to cry for Marius to get here soon. Because regardless of the name he gave her, Cosette was sure that this man was Claquesous.

She debated frantically which name to offer; she never used her given name, and if he asked around and no one recognized the name, he might think she lied to him. And yet, her nickname was something she possessed, not something she was burdened with. To give Claquesous her preferred name, he would possess a small part of her. But if she were to lie and he were to find out, he would know that she knew to be afraid of him.

"Cosette," she said finally, plastering a fake smile on her face. He had her nickname in his ears now, and she had to fight back tears.

He took another two steps closer to her, and it took all her willpower not to back away. Bahorel was both taller and broader than this man, but the ginger had never felt like a threat the same way Claquesous did. Granted, Bahorel always had a strange awareness of himself, causing him to show unusually reassuring restraint. Claquesous seemed to have that same awareness of himself, and used it to make her as uncomfortable as possible without overstepping socially accepted customs. All she could see were those gleaming, too large teeth and somewhat terrifying gums opening wide and devouring her.

"Cosette," he repeated, and her name sounded like wax smudges on wooden tables to her ears. "How would you like to make a little extra pocket money without having to work so many hours a week?"

Her eyes widened and she wondered for a moment if it was possible to swallow her own tongue. He had recognized her specifically as the freshman who lived off-campus, and was asking if she wanted to sell drugs to the other students.

She was the contact.

"Work is not man's punishment," she said impulsively, trying to avoid the mobster's gaze without making her discomfort apparent. "It is his reward and his strength and his pleasure."

Normally when she fell back on her typical whimsy people wrote her off as strange, and left her alone. Even being a blonde helped, because she could play dumb far too well.

Instead of the negative response she was expecting, he just chuckled and asked, "Who said that?"

"George Sand," she replied.

"Yeah, well he needed to put his feet up and relax on occasion. You're a college kid. You should be allowed to have a little fun, break a few rules, and make a few bucks while you're at it."

Cosette didn't correct him and explain that George Sand was a female writer of the nineteenth century. She wanted to take off her clearly faulty flip flops, put on her fuzzy killer rabbit slippers, and curl up in Marius' arms and hide away. Claquesous wasn't expressly explaining that he was asking her to sell drugs, so he knew that she already knew. Of course, he probably thought she'd heard it from other freshmen so the toothy, gummy smile stayed on his face.

"Why me?" she asked softly, not bothering to play dumb anymore.

"You're a high class beauty with all of college ahead of you," he said as if it were obvious. "Long blond hair, big brown doe eyes, and living off campus in that big house of yours with Daddy. No one would ever suspect. You'd be perfect, dear."

On his last sentence he reached up and stroked her jaw, ignoring her when she tried to jerk away. It took all her effort not to burst into tears at this point. All she could think was that he knew where she lived, and he was trying to make her the mob's contact.

When she was a child and things scared her, Cosette used to bottle them up in an old jam jar and place it on the sunniest window sill she could find. The lingering scent of strawberries, fireflies, and summer would bleach away the fear and negativity. But it was winter and there was no way to bottle up a viable threat.

Claquesous grinned again, and maybe he knew that he'd already won. Because now he had just threatened her Papa, and there wasn't much in the world that she wouldn't do for him. She reached behind her head, but couldn't feel the gingko leaves that were supposed to be nestled safely in her hair. Maybe they had been too afraid of Claquesous to stay and protect her.

"Hey Cosette, there you are!"

She nearly sobbed in relief and sudden terror when Marius bounded up to them, looking even more like an excitable beagle than usual, with a white knit hat on his head complete with ear flaps and everything. Cosette needed him to be holding her, smelling like firewood and soap. But she was a target now, and that put him at risk.

Her mouth opened, hoping that by the time her vocal chords remembered how to speak she'll have come up with some brilliant way to save the situation, but instead she remained mute. Her boyfriend looked Claquesous up and down, eyes narrowing when he took in the age and thankfully made the connection. Without a word, Marius inserted himself in between her and the mobster, wrapping his arms around her shoulders defensively.

"Just think about it dear," Claquesous said with an extravagant little twirl of the fingers, making it look like he'd just saluted and bowed. Then, with another toothy, gummy smile, he turned and left the store.

Before Marius could turn to face her and ask if she was okay, she had already burst into tears.

/. /

Marius wrapped his arms around his girlfriend and let her sob into his shoulder, unsure what to say or do to help her. Was he supposed to tell her that everything would be okay? The words felt bitter on his tongue so they never escaped. After all, if he were to tell her that it would be okay, she could ask him how. And for that, he had no answer.

Because it wouldn't be okay, would it? Yesterday he'd found out that one of his best friends had been repeatedly raped throughout her entire life, because her father gave her out to his customers.

Was there some sort of procedure for how to handle this? The rest of the Amis all seemed to have a response ready; Enjolras mobilized the group and sent them into battle, Feuilly grabbed Bahorel and Joly and somehow planned to comb through the entire town to find any possible contacts, Jehan took off to go talk to the freshmen with his roommate. And all Marius could do was wonder how many times Éponine had to get tested for STDs before she'd even gotten her first period.

Marius knew that he wasn't quite as perceptive as most of his other friends. At times he was a tad oblivious, and had a tendency to not hear what he was saying. With the Amis, it was hard not to know your flaws because they had fun pointing them out. But it was never too noticeable to upset him. If Marius got a few groans of "Oh Pontmercy" thrown at him from time to time then he didn't mind all that much.

But this was different. Now, Éponine's life was resting in their hands, and already, things in the group were starting to splinter under the pressure. Last night Bahorel had returned from his assigned duty to tell them that Enjolras had "_something he needed to look into_" and "_would be right back_." And obviously, Grantaire had freaked. It had been terrifying, and when Éponine asked him under her breath to bring him a bottle of pills from their bathroom he'd been even more lost. They turned out to be only sleeping pills, but even so the experience left him shaken. He'd immediately texted Cosette and asked to see her.

Obviously, he hadn't been expecting _this._

Marius had spent the majority of yesterday, and all of today reminding himself that he couldn't afford to fuck anything up this time. And yet, as they started walking away from the convenience store, Cosette yanked on his arm and stopped him in the middle of the sidewalk.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" she demanded angrily, and he was sure that somehow, he'd missed something again.

"Back to 'Ponine's," he said slowly, raising his voice on the last syllable to make it a hesitant question.

That seemed to be the wrong answer, because Cosette stared at him like he was growing a small vegetable garden in his hair. Actually no, strike that. Cosette probably would've been charmed and delighted if he had a vegetable garden in his hair. She looked at him as if he'd just sacrificed a puppy in the name of Satan.

"Is that wrong?" he asked finally when she just continued to stare at him, waiting for him to come to some obvious conclusion on his own.

"I can't be seen anywhere near 'Ponine and R's apartment," she said miserably as she tugged him in the opposite direction, pulling him towards her house. "Don't you get it Marius? That was Claquesous!"

"I got that part," he said with a nod, frustrated for not making the connection that everyone else in the group surely would've made by now.

"He was trying to get me to sell for him," she explained miserably. "He knows where I live. He could go after Papa. He could easily follow me to 'Ponine's."

Marius swallowed, and wondered if this was how it felt to fall victim to Midas' touch. His stomach felt like lead as it hit him that this had suddenly gotten so much more dangerous. Now Cosette, _his Cosette_ was in danger as well, and unlike Éponine, she had to be holed away in her own house without an entire Hibernation of protection

He walked her home in silence, holding her hand to try and bring her some level of comfort. But when it came to Cosette, she didn't take comfort from people so much as she took comfort from familiarity. According to her, people were transient, and any physical comfort was fleeting at best and unrecognizable at worst. But the creations of man outlast them, and hold with them the essence of the creator and the owner; they were imbibed with meaning and purpose.

Marius hadn't understood it at first, and they had gotten into a huge fight about it in the earliest weeks of their relationship. He didn't have the money that she did, and he yelled at her for taking his pens and other tiny things when she came over. She'd tried to explain that he could just take everything back from her, but he had been too pig-headed to listen and screamed at her about how he had to pay for those things, and she couldn't understand because she was rich.

Later at dinner when he'd told Courfeyrac and Combeferre about it, his roommate had sighed, smacked him upside the head, and then explained.

"She told you how her Mother died, right?"

"Yeah," he'd replied huffily, not sure where he was going. "She fell on hard times and had to sell herself to make money, and wound up with a bad STD."

"No, how she physically died," Courfeyrac said exasperatedly, shaking his head like Marius was an idiot. "She died crying and screaming for her. _Cosette, my baby, come back to me! Cosette, where did you go! _Stuff like that. Cosette was in the room, holding her hand and her Mom didn't even see her."

Marius hadn't known that, and at the time, he'd felt sick and stupid for not understanding how it all connected. Even Combeferre had sighed at that point, making the jump from that piece of information to Cosette's kleptomania quirk. After staring at Courfeyrac blankly for several moments and realizing that he wasn't going to get any more help from him, he turned to Combeferre, who'd indulged him.

"George Berkeley had a theory that we can't know if anything truly exists outside of our perception," he said slowly, but not condescendingly. "For example, if everyone in the world stopped looking at this plate, would the plate cease existing? Maybe to her, it's the exact opposite. Outside of our perception, people change, and age, and even disappear. So things would hold more of a physical presence than people to her."

Marius had turned to Courfeyrac for confirmation, and he'd nodded slowly. Although Courfeyrac's indulgent nods were definitely condescending.

"By taking your goddamn pen, you continue to exist beyond when she can see you. Why do you think Jehan always makes her those little origami things out of my post-it notes when he stays over?"

He'd immediately gone and apologized to her, agreeing that she could take all of his pens if he could take hers when he needed them. Somehow, that must've been the best thing he could've said, because she'd pulled him into her room for the first time. Marius didn't think there was a happier man alive than he had been that night.

Of course, there were still issues with the topic; he disliked how she stole the 25¢ gum at the campus convenience store counter and justified it by leaving 50¢ in the tip jar, and how she'd taken two cloth napkins from restaurants when they went out on dates. And there were dozens of tiny little Cosette-isms that he still had yet to figure out or have explained to him, but he had plenty of time to figure it out. He kept his discomfort to a minimum, and she tried to cut back on the petty theft.

They were nearly at her house when he realized that Cosette hadn't stolen any 25¢ gum from the convenience store. Marius had resigned himself long ago to the fact that nothing he could do or say would keep her from stealing that gum. Claquesous had understandably left her shaken and distracted enough to forget a basic habit that brought her comfort.

Hugging and kissing her wouldn't comfort her. As for words… if there were any correct words, Marius certainly wasn't likely to figure out what they were. They reached her front door, and after a couple of seconds, he decided what to do. He looked down at his hands and pulled off his black gloves before handing them to her. They cost all of three dollars at Wal-Mart, but looking at Cosette's watery smile, he thought he might've just given her something precious.

"Thank you," she said sincerely, and she pulled them on immediately, using them to cover her face as she tried not to burst into tears again.

"It'll be okay," Marius promised her impulsively as he wrapped his hands in her newly gloved ones.

She didn't ask him how or why, just smiled again and walked inside, closing her front door behind her.

It was a stupid promise to make, but he always kept his promises. Now he just needed to find a way to make it true. They were dealing with mobsters and gangs, and Enjolras was nowhere to be found. The Amis were in way over their heads this time, and Marius couldn't even comprehend what was happening or what to do. Except there was one very obvious thing that they could be doing, he realized. The one thing that they probably should do.

His mind made up, he raced down the street, trying not to focus on the stinging cold in his hands. He jumped over icy patches on the sidewalks, and didn't slow (no matter how much of a fool he ended up looking like) until he had found his way downtown, and located the tall stone building he was looking for.

He burst in and all but leapt up to the front desk where the secretary was staring at him, face probably red from the cold and the exertion, panting like an idiot. But to her credit, she didn't say anything, and let him catch his breath and speak on his own.

"I need to talk with the chief of police," he said without any pretense.

"She's not in today," the secretary said. "Would you like to see the Detective standing in?"

He nodded, despite the sinking sensation in his chest. The tiny woman lead him through the police station, then pulled up to an office closed off from the others. Inside was a broad, stern-looking man writing up paperwork at the desk. For a few moments after being let in, Marius just stood at the door, taking the man in front of him in. Then finally, he snapped out of trance and ran up to approach him.

"I need to talk to the Chief of Police."

"I'm sure Ms. Jenkins told you already that the Captain is out on maternity leave," the Detective said, not looking up from the papers he was writing. "Whatever your issue, you can speak to me."

"It's urgent," Marius tried again, not wanting to talk to anyone less than the highest ranking official in the town.

"Then speak quickly," the man in front of him said, enunciating his words sharply and precisely.

Marius sighed and acquiesced, realizing that this was the best he was going to do. Even though he was just speaking to a detective, he still felt reassured. The man in front of him certainly had a presence that inspired fear and respect, and he hadn't even looked up to meet his gaze yet.

"There's a man from the French mob in town trying to sell drugs to students," he blurted out, unsure of a better way to put it.

At that, the detective in front of him looked up from the paperwork to meet his gaze.

"I am a very busy man. If I find out that this is some college joke…"

"It's not a joke!" Marius cut him off, voice raising a decibel or two at the accusation. "His name is Claquesous, but he's going by Cabuc on campus, and he's part of the Patron-Minette and trying to set up a place to sell in town as a stop-over on some drug route."

At this, the man gestured for him to take a seat at the desk in front of him. And after a moment, Marius did as he was told.

"Tell me everything you know."

And Marius did. After a moment's consideration, he decided to leave Éponine and her connection to the Patron-Minette out of the story. The point of the hibernation was to keep her safe from the eyes of the police and the mob, so her story wasn't important. Instead he talked about Claquesous going into the freshman dorms and pedaling mescaline, cocaine, heroin, and something called molly. The detective recognized the name of the drug, even if Marius himself didn't. Then he finished with Claquesous going up to Cosette and approaching her about selling for him.

By the time he was finished, the man in front of him had his hands clasped into a fist and his elbows resting on the desk in front of him, listening attentively to his story. The detective's eyes narrowed at what he heard, and finally he sat up and nodded.

"If what you're saying is true, then you are right in guessing that this Claquesous doesn't have a contact in town yet. Unfortunately, it's also unlikely that he brought with him a substantial enough quantity of drugs to arrest him for drug trafficking."

"What do you mean?" Marius demanded, flabbergasted that after everything he's revealed, the police's hands were still tied. "You have my word. I'll testify!"

He remembered Éponine saying that the Patron-Minette had law enforcement on their payroll, and for a moment, he was afraid that he'd just tipped his hand to a mob informant.

"One boy's word against a man from word of mouth gossip isn't probable cause," the man in front of him said harshly, shutting Marius up. "At the moment, the most I'll likely be able to catch him on would be a possession charge, but then he could escape with little more than a fine."

Marius sighed, both in relief and disappointment. On the one hand, this man was on his side and wanted to help. On the other hand, a possession charge wasn't nearly enough. They needed to lock Claquesous away for a long time, enough to send a message to the Patron-Minette that their town was off limits.

"That's not even a slap on the wrist for these guys," he whined, trying to say anything to get the detective to do more, even though he knew that wasn't how it worked. The detective also picked up on his childish behavior and leveled him with a displeased stare.

"I'm aware of that, boy. I'll investigate and see if there's anything more. But unless we find more tangible proof of your claims, there's not much else I can do."

The clipped words held finality to them, and Marius gave up trying to push the older man farther. He would try to help them, but it didn't look like they would be getting much help at all. He couldn't help but feel like he was right back where he'd started: in over his head and worried sick.

When Enjolras returned (assuming their leader hadn't done something stupid and gotten himself captured) he would have a plan of attack or more information to work with.

"If I find more evidence, what should I do?" he asked the man in front of him, determined not to lose this ally.

The detective stared at him for several seconds, seeming to appraise him. Marius tried not to squirm under the judgment, and locked his knees straight, holding his gaze. Finally, the older man must've found what he'd been looking for, because he gave him a slight nod.

"If you find anything, bring it straight here," he said finally. "Ask for Inspector Javert."


	4. Center Me

**This was a bit of an odd wait, but it was a bit of an odd week. So sorry. Enjoy!**

**If you want to find me on Tumblr, my url is Whimsical-in-the-Brainpan. Hope to hear from you!**

Chapter Four: Center Me

Enjolras trudged up the steps to Grantaire's apartment, weary from the train ride but otherwise happy. His father hadn't been home, so he had no idea that the ledger was gone, which meant that there would be no warning if he needed to use it. His clothes from yesterday felt heavy on his skin, and he couldn't wait to get into the apartment and change into literally anything else. When he got to Grantaire's door in the run-down tenement, he felt around the doorframe for the crack that held the spare key. Bossuet had texted him earlier that morning, to say that he'd rehidden the key in its usual place, so he could let himself in when he arrived. Upon prying it out, he opened the door.

Enjolras had been so wrung out from the travelling, and from everything he'd learned at his parents' apartment that he hadn't given any thought as to what things would look like when he returned. At first glance he saw Combeferre and Éponine sitting on the couch. Éponine seemed to be watching some show on her computer (judging by the clothes on the three women, it looked like it was from the 90's), and Combeferre was trying to read Doctor Faustus for one of his classes. It was probably the closest Combeferre would come to taking an elective, as the class was called _Sympathy for the Devil: The Role of Evil in Philosophy and Religion_. Apparently, it was a multi-discipline class, because his roommate hadn't stopped recommending it to him.

Upon his entrance, Combeferre and Éponine turned around to stare at him, in what he thought was incredulity, and even disapproval. Then the door opened even wider, and his eyes caught sight of Grantaire.

The cynic looked like a wreck; he was in the same exact clothes from yesterday, only more wrinkled than before. His generally untamed curly hair had reached a new level of uncontrollable, possibly from an odd angle of sleep, but it could also be from him pulling at it. Grantaire's eyes were red and bloodshot, and the moment they landed on Enjolras, they went wide and disbelieving.

Enjolras couldn't help the involuntary step backwards he took at the sight. For a few seconds, no one said anything, and then the blue-eyed man seemed to explode in a fit of emotion. Whatever Grantaire had been holding back out of bravery, or anticipation, or nerves, it all came out upon seeing him.

"You said you'd be right back!" Grantaire screamed through thick ugly tears and heaving gasps for air. He took a few steps towards Enjolras, but then backed off and started pacing across the tiny living room.

Enjolras started to get the sinking feeling that he'd horribly miscalculated something important.

"R…" he started, but never got to finish.

"You left, and nobody knew where you'd gone! And then Ep drugged me, and after I woke up, you were still missing and in _Manhattan_! Why would you… Enjolras, _they're_ in Manhattan! I thought you'd…"

Enjolras stared perplexed as Grantaire worked himself up from upset to hysterical over the course of his fumbling words. Sentences were abandoned halfway through as the content became too much. The cynic was frantically pacing each way, fingers grabbing violently at his hair trying to regain some semblance of control. But it was useless, his expressive blue eyes were wider and more bloodshot than Enjolras had even seen him. Every harsh movement from Grantaire just served to make him look more and more like a caged animal, panicked and looking for a way out.

Enjolras hadn't thought that his absence would be anything more than noticed. He had assigned everyone a job to gather information, and he had done the same. If his job took a bit longer than most of the others, or if he was gone for one night, it hardly seemed like a big deal. And yet, the Grantaire that Enjolras knew was all but gone, replaced by a man frayed around the edges.

Enjolras was watching his friend unravel.

"_Keep him still and give him something to focus on_," Éponine had said when he asked about his panic attacks. But Enjolras hadn't completely believed her at the time. Grantaire had always been easy-going and sarcastic. The nervous, twittering mess that she'd described had been so unfamiliar, that he could barely make sense of it. Of course, he was aware of the older man's tendency to hide, but Enjolras had never sat with him in his cynic's bunker while he hid.

Without giving any thought to the unfamiliar warmth that spread in his chest, Enjolras approached him in a single step and grabbed a hold of Grantaire's shoulder, stilling him and forcing him to look up to meet his eyes. They were enormous, shining their impossible blue, and looked as if he had been flayed to complete vulnerability. A long moment of silence passed as comprehension seemed to dawn on the shorter man that Enjolras was truly there, and still holding onto his shoulder, anchoring him back to reality. Then before he could comprehend it the panicking cynic was wrapped around him.

Hugs weren't completely unfamiliar to Enjolras, but they were rare and calm. This was a frantic clutching at skin and clothes, and he had no experience with it. It took a second for the student leader's mind to catch up, but to his surprise, the instant he did Enjolras was hugging back just as ferociously. He could feel his friend trembling underneath him, and could only barely catch Grantaire mumbling into his collarbone.

At first, a single _don't leave _slipped out in a whimper that could easily be lost amongst the sniffling and choked sobs. Enjolras couldn't be sure he heard it at first until some sort of desperate floodgate swung open and Grantaire was begging words like _please _and _Enjolras _into his chest through tears and shuddering breaths.

The whimpered words in his collarbone and corkscrew curls on his neck went straight to Enjolras' head, making him feel light and dizzy. He hadn't allowed himself to dwell on the fact that he hadn't seen his friend in almost two months, or how much he missed him. There had been hunches to chase after, and friends to organize. But with Grantaire so close – the closest proximity Enjolras had ever had with the man – everything came rushing back to him. The dull ache of discovering that he missed the drunk, the confusion over what those new feelings meant for him, the indecision at what to do once he learned about his friend's past. Enjolras still couldn't comprehend his own feelings and decided not to try for the moment, just clutching on tighter and relishing the sensation of his friend finally _here _again.

"It's alright," Enjolras finally said, voice surprisingly thick with emotion. He punctuated the words of comfort by resting a hand on the back of Grantaire's head, trying to find any way to ground him further.

Although they were far from out of the woods, his mind spun on repeat, just gripping the sensory awareness of Grantaire. His own tired mind had short-circuited, and just kept repeating _safe, safe, safe _until his knees wanted to give out. Lost in that moment, Enjolras couldn't help but wonder if he was trying to reassure himself as well.

It was Éponine who eventually broke through the silence.

"So, did you find what you were looking for in New York?" she asked, trying not to seem too anxious.

Enjolras slowly broke away from the hug, embarrassed by the show of emotions he'd just put on for the room. It was maudlin and unprofessional to say the least, and his skin crawled at knowing that Éponine and Combeferre had witnessed it. Of course, he trusted both of them, but now they had seen a moment of weakness in his character.

In politics, showing the slightest chink in his armor could be used to his downfall. And in the wake of the most over-dramatic indulgence he'd ever allowed himself, his limbs were stiff and uncomfortable. His entire body was frozen. Next to him, he half expected Grantaire to show similar signs of embarrassment, but he was just looking at him expectantly as well.

"Yes, I did," he said finally, straightening up. These were his friends, he reminded himself with reproach. There was nothing to fear from Combeferre and Éponine, he trusted them. And yet, he still tensed uncomfortably, grateful that the focus was on strategy. "I had reasons to believe my Father has had dealings with the Patron-Minette, so I went home to check."

"You what?"

"My father, like almost every successful businessman keeps a ledger," he explained. "It's an account of all his dealings, both legal and illegal. My parents are on a company event out of the country, so I was able to go the apartment and find it without them noticing. It could take down several key members of the mob, and function as a strong bargaining chip."

Enjolras had expected to see more enthusiasm and relief at the news, but staring at his friends, all he could see was shock and silence. As usual, Combeferre was the first to recover, morphing his expression into its usual thoughtful glance. But before his roommate had a chance to even say a word Grantaire's mouth fell open, and he started screaming at Enjolras.

"Are you crazy? Have you actually lost it?" Grantaire demanded incredulously, waving his arms frantically. "Ep goes in to bargain with that ledger, she'd never leave their memory or their sight again."

Enjolras stared into those blue eyes for a second, stunned. Did Grantaire really think that he would send Éponine gift wrapped to them like that? That he had the capacity for such carelessness? Of course, he wasn't particularly close to her, and often organized the Amis like troops, but he would never send one of them off to do something that he wasn't prepared to do as well.

"She wouldn't be the one bargaining with them," he clarified, forcing the mild hurt out of his voice. "I would. And the information I have would protect me."

"Enj…" Combeferre started.

He never finished.

"No! Enjolras, you can't!" Grantaire shouted, actually looking like he could start crying again. "If the ledger is your father's it won't take them long to figure that out. They'll find out who you are and do anything to tip the balance of power. Your family!"

"So?" he asked with a shrug.

Enjolras got involved with public speaking regularly, so he was used to people staring at him. He'd even made his fair share of insensitive remarks, particularly to Marius, and was also accustomed to his friends giving him disapproving looks. But the stares that he got after that one word was like nothing he'd ever experienced before. Éponine and Grantaire were staring at him with matching expressions of bafflement, and even Combeferre was wincing at the flippant response.

Being unable to consult his best friend about his apparent misstep, Enjolras had to keep himself from squirming where he stood. A quiet wrongness crept over him at the reminder that he simply didn't work the same way they did.

"So?" Grantaire responded in bewilderment. "Enjolras, your family!"

"I don't know what your understanding of family is, but mine was a business plan," he explained with a deep-set frown on his face. "I was born and raised to be trained as a CEO. Sentiment holds no place in business, and therefore held no place in our house. They would be attacking me by trying to take away something I possess, not something I value."

It had just been meant as a clarification for why that threat strategy wouldn't work on him, but as the room fell silent again, Enjolras couldn't help but wonder if something more had transpired without him knowing. The ever-constant panic in Grantaire's face melted away for a second as the older man stared at him with wide eyes. It wasn't pity; Enjolras at least knew that. His friend's expressive face was open and sorrowful, and he couldn't figure out why. Then Grantaire shook his head and broke eye contact. The moment ended, and it left Enjolras feeling cold somehow.

Grantaire shook his head, and rubbed his face. It looked like his shoulders were trembling.

"Look Enjolras, you just can't," he said urgently. "Trust me, you threaten them and they will find a way to eliminate the threat.

"Do you know a Gueulemer?" Éponine interjected, looking at him evenly. "He's like freaking hulk and he's a hitman. Maybe the one assigned to you. Or they might send Babet. He's a jack of all trades, and has a proclivity to pull teeth before cutting your throat."

"You're trying to scare me off," he replied calmly. "It won't work. We have an upper hand now."

"You don't know what you're getting into," Éponine gritted out with a level of frustration that he would've been more concerned about if he'd had the time. "This isn't _your _fight."

"Enjolras, don't rush into this," Combeferre scoldingly interrupted, resting a hand on Éponine's shoulder. Enjolras turned to look at his roommate with a hint of surprise. "You wanted information on Claquesous; let's devise a strategy."

Leave it to Combeferre to always think rationally through any situation, even one as foreign as this.

"Very well," Enjolras conceded, moving back into planning mode. "What do we know?"

"They're likely trying to expand their markets on route by hitting up towns on train stops," Comberre explained. "Courf says that Claquesous was trying to sell some Class A drugs to freshmen, and Feuilly doesn't think that they have any in-town contacts or plants."

"All the more reason to drive them out quickly," he nodded.

Strategizing with Combeferre felt comfortable. There was no emotional struggle and possibility for manipulation in it. They were intellectual equals moving towards a common goal. But then Grantaire jumped in, looking frazzled and distressed, and everything changed. There was no rationality in it, just earnest pleading. Enjolras hated it.

"_Your emotions make you weak, boy."_ He could hear the advice rattling in his head. "_Let anyone see your weaknesses, and they'll be sure to use them against you._"

He needed to protect his friends, but how could he when Grantaire was looking at him like he was breaking his heart?

"Enjolras please, just let them do what they came here to do." Grantaire begged, grabbing onto his shirt sleeve. "They'll leave some middle man who's never seen 'Ponine, and we can get on with our lives."

Enjolras pulled away from Grantaire's grip and staggered back a few steps. How could he say that? How could he not care? Enjolras looked at the others for help. Combeferre's lips were pressed together in a thin line to show his disapproval, but Éponine was nodding along.

"There are drugs on every college campus Enjolras," Éponine agreed. "I'm pretty sure Courf and Bossuet have both tried molly before, and haven't Bahorel and Marius done mesc once too? Just let the stupid college kids who want to do drugs, do drugs. They're going to get it somewhere. Why does it matter how they got here?"

Enjolras shook his head, stunned and horrified. This was his school and his town; they had no right impeding on what was _his_. It might be one thing if they were simply offering it and letting the students find them on their own. Enjolras would resent it, but had to allow his peers their own choices. This was pushing though; Claquesous was entering the freshmen dorms and pushing them into trying it, knowing full well how addictive many of those substances were. Didn't Grantaire and Éponine see how wrong this was?

"I can't just stand by and watch this happen," he said angrily.

"So instead you're just going to show your hand and hope they back off?" Grantaire asked, still way too distressed to be reasonable. He had no place being in this argument when his feelings were sloshing all over the floor, and making Enjolras want to calm him down like that.

"What would you have me do?" Enjolras shot back angrily.

Grantaire had to know by now that he wasn't the type to stand back while terrible things happened. It didn't matter if it was the French mob, they had entered his sight and threatened his friends. It wasn't in his nature to rest before the wrong had been fixed. If Grantaire couldn't understand that…

"You're going into politics; maybe one day you'll have enough public attention to be untouchable," Grantaire said miserably, unabashedly pleading now. "Fight the big picture when it's impossible for them to just kill you in an alley. Maybe one day you can take the entire ring down, and even get away with it."

Enjolras' posture stiffened at the idea of biding his time and letting the Patron-Minette ruin lives while he was too busy covering his own ass. His little life didn't matter. Not if he could make a difference to this city, and to his friends.

"But no," Grantaire choked out sarcastically, clearly seeing the change in his posture. "They're doing wrong now so damn the consequences because you just have to try!"

That did it. Everything collapsed after those words. Every doubt that Enjolras had in Grantaire's ability to understand him fell away. Because the blue-eyed man in front of him had stopped trying to fight him, stopped trying to convince him to let it go. The cynic hung his head, and those eyes were hidden behind his black curls.

And yet, he didn't feel particularly victorious. Grantaire had lost his argument simply by acknowledging that Enjolras could never just leave it be, and yet the expression the cyinc wore made him look like he'd just kicked a puppy. It was too much; Enjolras never wanted to see that terrified, defeated expression on his friend's face again.

"_Let anyone see your weaknesses, and they'll be sure to use them against you."_

Grantaire couldn't be doing it on purpose, because _Enjolras_ didn't even know what the man was doing, or why. Why was he so afraid? Éponine would be safe. He would avoid her if he had to. Even if he was watched for months or years afterwards, he could figure something out. He could keep them safe.

Unless… Grantaire was scared for _him_.

"Very well, I'll wait," he said, surprising himself with the words. "I'll need a day or two to assess our resources and organize a strategy anyway."

"_Your emotions make you weak, boy."_

Enjolras felt weak. He felt pliant, and vulnerable, and weak. Grantaire's too-blue eyes had haunted his dreams since he was nine years old. As a little boy Enjolras had imagined those eyes had been asking for help. Now they haunted his waking as well; now Grantaire was begging him, not for himself, but for Enjolras. It was foreign, and petrifying, and impossible how much this man affected him.

"Promise?" Grantaire asked disbelievingly, staring at him like he was something resplendent. Like Enjolras had just given him the world by promising that he wouldn't risk himself.

He couldn't put name to the emotions on Grantaire's face, but in that moment, he desperately wished he could. Because no one had ever looked at Enjolras like that before, of that he was sure.

"_Your emotions make you weak, boy."_

That expression, it made him ache.

"I still may use the ledger, but I won't make any rash decisions before we can have a group meeting."

That would have to be an acceptable compromise, because Enjolras refused to give any more than that. But of course, Grantaire would continue to surprise him with the depth of his understanding. Because he didn't show any signs of disappointment or annoyance; the cynic just looked relieved and grateful that Enjolras had promised to wait. The worry was still there, but secondary now. Instead, the shorter man turned to Éponine and pulled her into a side hug.

"You aren't allowed to drug me tonight," Grantaire said, jokingly scolding her. But even with the light-hearted tone, Enjolras could hear how much he meant it. In response, Éponine playfully flicked him in the nose.

He could still see the fear in both their expressions.

Unable to watch anymore Enjolras turned away from the cynic and looked to Combeferre. Though, in hindsight, that was a bad idea; his roommate met him with a thoughtful, questioning expression that made him want to grimace. But he refused to let the inner turmoil play itself out so effusively on his face. Instead, the muscles in his arms constricted and his knees locked. His face was tightly frozen in a neutral expression. Enjolras knew what his roommate was asking and he absolutely did not want to think about it. Didn't want to consider it.

"_Your emotions make you weak, boy."_

Enjolras had never felt weaker.


	5. Believe Me

**I'm sorry that I just can't get into a regular posting schedule with this one! Stuff has been crazy (as stuff tends to be) but I'm trying to be better! I hope you haven't all left me!**

Chapter Five: Believe Me

Grantaire had no clue how he was supposed to feel. He'd spent the last six weeks avoiding all of these people, and suddenly they were back in his life. Everything had changed within the course of a day, and they were all back, and they were in his apartment, and they knew.

Earlier, after convincing Enjolras not to use the ledger until the entire group talked about it (the plan was to do that tomorrow morning over breakfast) the blond had gone to take a shower to get the travel heaviness off of him. Enjolras had used his shower, and the thought still made him light-headed.

Seeing him walk out of the bathroom with just a towel on his waist, running his fingers through his messy blond hair hadn't helped things either. Grantaire had been bright red by the time Enjolras had approached him asking where his bag of clothes was. Grantaire had lent him a pair of sweatpants and his Kermit the Frog shirt, and seeing his Apollo wearing his clothes was far too distracting to be allowed.

Then there had been the ten minute search for that godforsaken bag. They found it in the oven, and Éponine swore up and down that she completely forgot that she'd put it there to save space. Of course, the evil grin she gave him (since Grantaire had basically been an incomprehensible mess by that point) said otherwise.

Éponine had set the tone for the entire mess, and that tone was _we do not talk about how much this could all go to shit. _She didn't want any heartfelt talks about her feelings, or reassuring hugs to give her strength. She wanted everyone to treat this like another one of Enjolras' more intrusive protests (because Grantaire had lost count of the times when Enjolras had tried to force some authority to do the right thing with the power of protest signs) and treat it strategically. And everyone had basically listened. But Grantaire had still assumed everyone would start asking him questions about why he disappeared and what had happened.

But it never came. Combeferre and Courfeyrac ordered in three pizzas; one with bacon, salami, pepperoni, and ham for him and Bahorel, one vegetarian mediterranean for Enjolras and Jehan, and one everything for the rest of them. Everyone set up to do homework together, joked around, and tried to forget about the little drug war they were waging outside. At one point Combeferre challenged Bahorel to a sparring contest and everyone started cheering him on when they thought he might even win. Then obviously, Éponine had sprung up from the couch and challenged Combeferre.

"Be careful dude," Bahorel had warned him when the philosophy major agreed. "This bitch uses her nails!"

Of course, everyone really started cheering then, because no one knew who would win that fight. In the end, Éponine came out on top, but just barely. She had played dirty, biting and scratching like nobody's business. Combeferre had to tap out twice, but eventually she got the message and helped him to his feet.

No one commented when Éponine stared the rest of them down with wild eyes and a smile that was supposed to be playfully challenging (but just looked scary) and said, "Who wants to go next? I bet I can take you all!"

It was the first time any of them had ever seen Bahorel back away from a fight, because he could see it too. This wasn't fun and games for Éponine; this was her response to a threat. She was trying to prove to all of them, and to herself that she wasn't someone to be messed with.

She only tried to prove that she was tough when she felt completely helpless.

After that, things eased down. Grantaire had been sure at that point the evening would descend into pitying looks and awkward pauses, but once again the Amis had surprised him. The ruckus shifted into pleasant conversation. Combeferre, Feuilly, and Enjolras debated over something from class, because on top of Feuilly's fulltime job, he somehow had time to audit some classes. Marius, Courfeyrac, Éponine, Jehan, and Joly all talked about some bad writer ruining some British TV show they all loved. And Grantaire was just content to listen to the bitching with a sad smile on his face.

Halfway through the evening, before everyone started to get ready for bed, Bossuet finished the knitting that he started during hibernation. It was a forest green slouch hat, and it was really well-made. So no one was more shocked than Grantaire when Bossuet gave it to him with a wide grin.

"Are you sure, man?" he'd asked, unsure of how to respond to it.

"There're only so many times I could listen to Joly saying, _Bossuet, Grantaire doesn't have a hat. Bossuet, what is he doing without a hat in December?_ _Bossuet, Grantaire's going to catch pneumonia. _Something had to be done."

Grantaire laughed at the bald man's impression of Joly, but internally he didn't know what to say. Through the jokes, Bossuet had wanted to make him something that cost time and energy, and it was thoroughly awesome. When he pulled the hat down over his ears and let Jehan play with it until it sat properly on his head he couldn't help the blush that overcame him.

"So attractive," Courfeyrac had joked once he'd put it on, and sloppily kissed him on the cheek. Grantaire shoved him away, but couldn't help but grin sheepishly.

Needless to say, the hat stayed on his head for the rest of the night.

And the rest of the night was pleasant, surprisingly pleasant with everything going on. It felt far too right for Grantaire to even begin to handle it. Everything inside him was screaming, saying that this was where he belonged. That it only fit to listen to Jehan's poetry, and Bossuet and Courfeyrac joking with one another, and Enjolras' many causes. They even knew some of his and Ep's past and didn't judge them for it. When he told them he was gay, they baked him a friggin' cake, for fuck's sake!

For a moment, he wondered why he had ever wanted to hide from these people. But then, of course he would think that now, when he might actually need to leave them to escape.

That had yet to be determined, and Grantaire just wanted to stay in this evening for the rest of his life.

But the night had needed to wind down at some point. Everyone knew there'd be an important discussion in the morning, and it could be one of those life-changing decisions. They'd just wanted one normal last night, so when everyone started laying out sleeping bags and getting ready for bed Grantaire couldn't help the flood of anxiety that overtook him. They didn't know they'd be taking a vote on Enjolras' life tomorrow.

Oh fuck. Just thinking about it, _Enjolras' life _just made him nauseous. Long after everyone had gone to bed, he tossed and turned.

No one was going to get hurt because of him. Of that he was sure, because Grantaire wouldn't let them. When he'd first run up those stairs a few days ago, his mind had been entirely on protecting Éponine and getting her to safety. But the Amis had forced their way in and started helping, and he'd been trying to keep all of their whereabouts straight. Jehan and Courfeyrac mingling amongst the freshmen was mostly safe, since they could just pretend to be students interested in the drugs. Marius, Combeferre, and Bossuet were just doing research, so they could safely cover their tracks as well. It was Bahorel, Feuilly, and Joly he was worried about. Snooping around town was dangerous, and he couldn't keep eyes on them from his apartment.

And now there was Enjolras, taking off on a moment's notice and trying to fling himself into peril.

Nausea bubbled up in his throat, and Grantaire had to press his forehead against the scratchy rug on the floor next to the bed to steady himself.

He didn't understand how the blond could risk his life without a second thought. Didn't understand why he would. Even if they could manage to drive the Patron-Minette out of the town, what did he think it would accomplish? There'd be other colleges in other towns. It would be a small victory, and no doubt it wouldn't last long.

Too much was bothering him about the argument they'd had earlier. At the time he'd been too stunned by Enjolras' flippant description of his family life to really think. But now, dozens of unanswered questions flitted through his mind. How did he know to look for the ledger? How did he know about his father's dealings with the French mob? And was Enjolras genuinely doing all this just because he spotted something wrong and couldn't let it go?

Every time Grantaire closed his eyes, he imagined seeing Enjolras lying in an alleyway, in a puddle of his own blood. His blond hair would create a halo effect, and that stupid red hoodie he loves so much would be splayed out underneath him. If Éponine hadn't been asleep in her bed two feet away, Grantaire would've cried out at the image.

He couldn't still his mind, and he couldn't still his body. Without thinking about it, Grantaire crept out of bed and made his way through the tangle of bodies down the hall and into the living room. Slowly, he came to the red sleeping bag (seriously, if the color red didn't look so damn good on him, Grantaire would be setting up an intervention over it) perpendicular to their couch. The student leader's head was completely covered by the top of the sleeping bag, so he just looked like a big red lump.

"Enjolras," he whispered quietly, lightly poking the lump where the student's stomach would be with his toe. "Are you awake?"

The top flap of the sleeping bag swung down, revealing nothing but the blond's head. It would almost be comical if he wasn't so tense. Some comedic variation of _Mr. Bond, we've been expecting you._

"Yeah," he replied, and climbed out of the sleeping bag without another indication.

They glanced around them for a moment before silently agreeing on going to the kitchenette. Luckily, none of the idiots had decided to snag some extra floor space by sleeping in the kitchen, because it was quite literally the only other Amis-free spot in the apartment (save the bathroom, but that would just be too weird.)

"What's the deal with the ledger?" he asked, figuring he'd skip to the chase.

"What?"

"You basically took a long shot twenty miles wide and got the apple by its stem," he said somewhat frustrated. This had bugged him since Enjolras had first mentioned the ledger. It was too convenient, too simple; and things were never that simple.

"Strangely enough, that didn't clarify anything for me," Enjolras said with a tiny quirk of a smile.

"How did you know your father's ledger would have incriminating evidence against the Patron-Minette? And how did you even know about it?"

It was dark and he couldn't be sure, but Grantaire thought he saw Enjolras pause, maybe even tense up slightly, before nodding and answering.

"My father raised me to be a businessman, of course he'd advise me to keep a ledger of all my business transactions. Finding his was simple. I just devised what I knew about his unique brand of paranoia."

"And how did you know you'd find exactly what you were looking for?" He repeated, vaguely surprised that Enjolras had ignored one of the questions he'd asked. "I mean, fuck. It's practically Fairy Godmother levels of perfect. The exact evidence we'd need in our laps."

If he hadn't been sure before that something was off with Enjolras, now he was certain. When he'd first met Enjolras he'd compared the man to a marble statue, cold and unmoving. But since then, he'd been proven wrong time and time again. And after the comment about his family earlier today, Grantaire thinks he's finally starting to figure Enjolras out. While the politics major wasn't exactly effusive in his emotions, Grantaire had started to notice the tiny smiles, and relaxed postures for what they were. And he'd begun to notice the tension the blond carried in his muscles when he was uncomfortable.

At his question, Enjolras had practically frozen mid-scowl. The blond's shoulders were nearly shaking with strain, and Grantaire almost told him to forget about it. That he didn't need to know.

Only this time, he _did _need to know. This time Éponine was at stake. He would do anything not to see the discomfort in the other man's posture, but not by risking his best friend. So instead, he said nothing and waited for Enjolras to word his answer.

"I recognized Montparnasse and Claquesous' names from somewhere, but couldn't place them until you explained who they were. When it became clear that I wouldn't know those names from campus, I pieced together that it must have been from my family."

That wasn't so bad, Grantaire thought. It could've been a lot worse, and it made sense with Enjolras' father trying to teach him about business. He just couldn't figure out why it caused so much stress in the student.

Either way, he had his information so he immediately set out trying to ease the tension in the air.

"Really? College and home were the only two places where you would know people?" he joked lightly.

"That and politics, but I doubt they had their names plastered across newspapers," Enjolras said with a neutral shrug, before looking down. "I lived an extremely reserved life before college."

"Well thank heaven that's changed," he joked, once again trying to lighten the mood.

Internally though, he filed away the expression into his memory banks. In the dim lighting, Enjolras' furrowed brow and pursed lips made him look just the slightest bit sad. No matter how much Grantaire wanted to kiss the crinkles on his face until they were smooth again, the artist in him couldn't deny that the dark lighting and the melancholy made him look beautiful.

"Believe it or not, it really has," Enjolras said with a hint of a smile. Grantaire took it as a personal victory when he saw the student's shoulders loosen and sag. Before he could feel any relief though, Enjolras broke eye contact and looked down for a moment, before stepping closer.

"Before all this, you were avoiding us. I would like to fix whatever's broken between us, if we can."

There it was. That's what he'd been waiting for all night and the past few days. Someone had to ask about where he disappeared, and why. And of course it fucking had to be Enjolras. Enjolras who looked at him with those imploringly sincere eyes.

Grantaire felt like he was losing his grip on reality. The feeling of safety and acceptance was completely foreign, and he couldn't comprehend it. The Amis had rushed to their aid immediately, and no one batted an eyelash in judgment at either of them when they heard Éponine's story. It was overwhelming and incredible, and he couldn't bear to lose it.

"Now?" Grantaire asked, meaning to sound jokingly incredulous.

"Well, I might be on the top of a mob's hit list tomorrow. Why not?"

Oh fuck it, who was he kidding? Even if Grantaire found himself trusting (and even loving) the Amis there would always be a French mob to look out for. And even if the Patron-Minette left the picture again, there would always be people around. Grantaire could never trust people. They were careless and impulsive. Every action was a disguise and armor.

And those _people _would be after Enjolras. What the student leader was thinking, what he was doing, Grantaire had no idea. But the thought made his mind swim and bile rise in his throat. Behind his eyelids, images taunted him. Enjolras in a ditch, Enjolras in pieces, Enjolras becoming just another file in missing persons.

That man was like the sun, and Grantaire didn't know how he could possibly cope if that light went dark.

"Oh fuck, don't say that," he begged, staggering a few steps backward. "Enjolras, you can't say that."

His head was spinning, and he had friends all over his floor because they barricaded themselves in his apartment to protect him. He couldn't move, couldn't pace like he normally would because he'd trip over them. _Images of Enjolras, of all off them dying and dead._ Nowhere to go. _The cracks in the floorboards filling with blood. All of them dying for something so pointless. _Grantaire wanted to leap away and find somewhere, _anywhere_ less crowded. He needed to breathe. Oh fuck, he couldn't breathe.

And Enjolras just cocked his head, a confused scowl on his face, and approached him once more.

"Why does this bother you so much?"

"Why does this…" Grantaire gaped at him, puzzling how he could genuinely not know. How the student couldn't understand something so simple as fear. "Enjolras, I keep picturing you in a puddle of your own blood! And why? I don't understand why…?"

"You're my friends." Enjolras said simply, as if that explained everything.

"It's too much… You couldn't … not for me. I'm just…"

He couldn't speak, couldn't form words. Enjolras was looking at him as if his three word answer was explanation enough, and like he was a complete moron for not grasping that. But it couldn't possibly be, because friends _just didn't_ _do that_. It was too much. Not for his sake.

Grantaire felt like he was dragged back to that day on the quad, with hundreds upon of people surrounding him in those t-shirts. Enjolras had done so much for him then; he had changed the human race for an afternoon. For a few hours, the world had become a better place, and it had been for _him_.

And yet, Enjolras quite possibly looked more resplendent now than ever before. This went so far beyond Apollo. He was bordering on Prometheus levels of stupidly heroic; risking the rage of Zeus to bring him and Éponine light.

And it was far too much. That light was starting to burn his skin, and Grantaire wanted to scratch until it came off. Instead, he stumbled away. A toad could only stand in the sun too long before returning to the mud, no matter how much it wanted to watch the bird fly.

"Grantaire, please," Enjolras said. He stepped closer to Grantaire again, oblivious to how much it hurt him to be near the student leader. "You are my friend. Tell me what I did wrong. Let me see you."

"You don't want that," he said, voice was low and even so as not to communicate how much he was trembling.

Enjolras' hand circled around his right wrist, and pulled him closer. Grantaire cursed the flinch in his response, though he didn't think he'd ever get used to the sensation of the blond's touch. His hands were soft and smooth, but his grip was firm and every time that man touched him, Grantaire felt himself both flying out of control and completely grounded.

"Do you trust me?"

On instinct, Grantaire spun around to look Enjolras in the eyes.

"Of course," he said without a beat.

A moment after he said it, he regretted it. Not because it wasn't true, but because it _was_. It was too true, and whatever Enjolras asked, it was far too likely that he would give it to him.

"Then help me understand."

"I'm afraid to say anything!"

For a moment, everything went silent as Grantaire marveled in the enormity of what he'd just admitted. This was it, he thought. This was where it was all going to end. He was going to know. Enjolras dipped his head to the side and took a step towards him, as if trying to comfort him. But he didn't want comfort.

"No don't," he cried and backed away, ripping his wrist away.

If this was going to be done, he couldn't stand to have the student anywhere near him. It would just further emphasize the chasm that would lay between them any second. The look of disappointment and disgust.

"Whatever you're going to say, don't. I've somehow managed to fool you into thinking I'm worth your little group. That I'm smart enough to be one of you. Somehow I've managed to let you believe in me." He choked on the words but continued anyway, unable to stop. "But you shouldn't. I'm stupid and cynical. I'm a drunk and a coward. My shirt said alcoholic, but you must have fucking known that it was a goddamn cop-out. I should've said failure, or disappointment, or _traitor_. Or _dropout_."

Fuck, he'd really said it. The last word slipped out in the midst of the rage and self-hatred, completely unbidden. Grantaire refused to look up at Enjolras' face. This man who valued education above almost all things. That was a step farther than he'd planned to go, but once he'd started, he couldn't keep the rest of it from spilling out.

"Yeah, that's right. I'm a fucking dropout. I never finished high school; not like I'd have been able to graduate anyway, probably. I can't even… fuck, I can't even read really. Yeah, I know, right? You'll see, all of you. One day you'll see how stupid and worthless I am, and I can't. I can't disappoint you again. I can't see you despise me again…"

Grantaire trailed off, and looked down at his hands in a sad realization before continuing. "But now it's too late for that."

It was a violent sort of cathartic. Every word that he said hurt him like a dagger, but he thirsted for it. He waited for the verbal blow that was sure to follow, and tried to imagine what the blond would say. After Christopher's response, Grantaire had felt eerily hollow. For all the anger, betrayal, and blame that he'd expected to come from the worst thing he'd ever done, forgiveness had never been a possibility. He hadn't known what to do with forgiveness, hadn't known how to process it.

But he had lied to Enjolras about who he was to become part of their little group. He'd heard the stories about Enjolras and Combeferre's struggles to get the club off the ground. They could've gotten any old ten signatures showing interest in the club, but Enjolras had only wanted true believers: people who would be willing to participate in several meetings a week, and help plan protests and events. Grantaire was far less than an active member of the club; he didn't believe in their causes and wasn't even a student. He had lied to them all, and now was as good of a time as ever to let it all come to light.

"Grantaire…" Enjolras started.

Suddenly, Grantaire's eyes widened in realization. He'd been careless. Perhaps his infraction was too great. Perhaps his betrayal was too dire, and they abandoned them now. He could make do, but Claquesous was still on campus, and Éponine was in danger. Panic flooded his veins at what Enjolras could do on a command. Even if Grantaire didn't deserve the Amis, Éponine did.

"No, don't!" he nearly screamed, terrified of the response. "I'll leave the group and you'll never have to see me again. Just please, don't abandon Éponine. I won't ask for anything else, but please please help her!"

Grantaire stayed frozen, and for once, forced himself not to move a muscle until he got his response. Internally, he cursed himself for risking Éponine's safety so carelessly.

Then Enjolras stepped towards him and had a hand on the side of his neck, and a thumb was resting on his carotid artery, below his ear. And the gesture was so surprising, so gentle, that Grantaire could do nothing but look up to meet the student's gaze.

He'd seen many expressions on Enjolras' face in the several months he's known him: righteous fury, frustration, annoyance, passionate belief, excitement, exhaustion, confusion, scorn, affection, and amusement to name a few. But the searching sadness on his face now was something raw and new. For an instant, he'd somehow ripped off the layers of defenses Enjolras built up and saw a glimpse into the blond's heart.

Before Grantaire could hate himself for it, Enjolras opened his mouth and started speaking.

"Is that what you see? And do you think I would let the man you described anywhere near my friends?" he asked in sheer bafflement, like he couldn't believe the image Grantaire gave of himself.

The words touched something inside him that he couldn't claw at, couldn't scratch away. As much as he wanted to rip away at his sunburned skin and hide away in the mud he thought he deserved, those words held so much honesty that Grantaire couldn't help but listen. Enjolras was never open about his feelings or weaknesses.

Those words were like cool water, sincere and cleansing. Grantaire had laid himself bare before Enjolras in a way he promised himself he never would for another human being again. And those words were trying to wash away the mud.

"You are supporting yourself and Éponine on your own. And if you can't read, then that is the school's fault. They didn't take the time to help make sure you learned the material, because they were too distracted by a national timetable, telling them where you should be. You didn't fail anyone; they failed you."

_Their _fault? They failed_ him_?

His stomach rolled, trying to reject the foreign concept. Like those shape puzzles for toddlers, it felt like he was trying to shove the circle into the trapezoid. Tears sprang to his eyes as he tried and failed to reconcile Enjolras' words in his mind. Grantaire's vision started to rock and dip, and he couldn't know if the world or he was to blame for it. Probably him.

It wasn't possible.

For an instant he thought he might drown like this. He might drown in those words and never reemerge from them. He couldn't. He spluttered and tried to resurface with protests and confessions, but Enjolras cut him off and wouldn't hear it.

"No, let me finish," he said, and there was nothing Grantaire could do. "I didn't invite you to that class to test you. There's no point, you've already passed. I invited you because when I argue with you I have to look at the topic, whatever the topic, from a whole new perspective than I thought possible. I enjoy watching you think. I enjoy listening to you argue. And you know how little I think of the other students in my Partisan Discourse class."

He wasn't drowning. Hell, Grantaire had no clue what he was, because he couldn't remember ever feeling like this before. Looking into those clear blue eyes (the color of glass if that even made sense) he could feel the sincerity.

"You _perplex_ me," Enjolras said, looking up with one of his tiny rare half-smiles; and it sounded too much like a confession.

He flushed at the words. No matter what dark aspect of his past Grantaire had laid at the student leader's feet, Enjolras never viewed him as any less. For a moment, he thought could see himself through the blond's eyes, and there wasn't a speck of dirt on him.

Grantaire wasn't drowning. In Christopher's forgiveness, in the Amis support and love, in Enjolras' sincere words, he was being cleansed.

"Can you believe me?" Enjolras asked, voice thick with an emotion Grantaire couldn't attempt to name.

Weeks ago, he would've choked down his response, not daring to admit to the truth.

"Sometimes you're all that I believe," he replied honestly, choking on tears.

The crooked half-smile bloomed into a wide grin spread across Enjolras' features and the blond leaned forward to press his forehead against Grantaire's. His senses were overwhelmed by the student leader; every nerve ending fired in his body, humming with the contact. Even more so than before, Enjolras was truly beautiful. And yet, it wasn't too much anymore. Against all odds, Grantaire felt at ease in his skin underneath Enjolras' gaze.

He could see himself as Enjolras saw him. Clean. Free from the mud.

He could breathe.

"Someday soon when this is over, come to my class." Enjolras said as a request, and not the instruction the words might suggest. "Believe me when I say, you'll baffle them all."

"Okay," Grantaire breathed.

And he was so wrong before because _this_ was catharsis.

/. /

Feuilly lay silently in the extra sleeping bag that Combeferre loaned him, not daring to move a muscle. The only thought running through his head as he unintentionally eavesdropped on a _very _private conversation between his friends was _holy shit, why me?_

And if he was being honest, a little bit of his mind was occupied debating whether or not this counted towards the pool everyone had joined during hibernation. After they'd passed the two month mark three weeks ago Éponine had been the only one in so everyone had gone double or nothing to keep the bet going. Despite the fact that Grantaire had been ignoring everyone at the time, no one seemed to think that this blowout wouldn't happen.

Feuilly pondered for a moment as their leader guided Grantaire away from the kitchen, talking about how they needed their rest, before deciding that it didn't count. Then, oh dear God; Enjolras was bringing Grantaire to his sleeping bag, and _tucking him in._

Feuilly had to resist the urge to sit up slightly to get a better view of the two. He knew he was outright spying now, but Enjolras was tucking Grantaire into his red sleeping bag and practically cuddling up next to him. Enjolras was on top of the down fabric and to the side of Grantaire, and it didn't look like they were touching, but they were _right fucking there._ He groaned as he watched this, because the only thing keeping this from ending the betting pool was that neither of them had actually talked about their feelings yet.

Granted, at this rate, they'd be fucking before they even realized the other was interested in them.

He'd never been a very deep sleeper. Maybe it came from the orphan thing, and maybe it came from the homeless thing, but he never bothered to investigate the reasons why. To him, it didn't matter why he woke up at the slightest noise. All that mattered was that he could get back to sleep just as easily and it didn't throw off his work schedule.

That didn't mean things weren't going to be as awkward as fuck for him the next morning. Because they definitely were. He felt like he'd invaded something very intense, and even though there was no way he could've avoided hearing it, it still felt wrong.

Even so, a stray thought entered his mind that he couldn't help entertaining for a few minutes before finally slipping back to sleep.


End file.
